As far back as Seattle’s Eleni Govetas can remember there’s been Balkan music in her life. By seven years old, she knew the heat of a Greek summer well, winding through tobacco fields on dirt roads in the backseat of her parents’ car towards the twang of bouzouki in the distance.
“We’d drive with the windows down,” Govetas said, “and listen to find the party.”
After all, Govetas’ parents, Christos Govetas and Ruth Hunter, are two of Seattle’s most prominent Balkan musicians and the founders of Seattle’s annual Balkan Night Northwest, the biggest pan-Balkan festival in the region. Balkan Night Northwest, happening this year on March 7th, 2020, celebrates the cultural similarities among Balkan countries—instead of ongoing tensions.
“The fact that we can have a space [with Balkan Night Northwest] where we’re co-habitating with Albanians, Greeks, Turks and Croats, Serbs, all in the same room is pretty ground-breaking, even though we’re in the United States. These people have a lot of history and things to work through,” said Eleni Govetas.
Christos Govetas and Ruth Hunter met at a Balkan music camp, shortly after Christos immigrated to the U.S. from Greece in 1978. When Eleni and her brother Bobby were born, the family relocated to Seattle to be nearer to Christos’ sister and the large Greek community in the area. Annual trips to Greece were tradition and just one layer of Eleni and Bobby Govetas’ rich upbringing surrounded by Balkan music and culture.
“Community is really important to [my family.] We throw parties all the time at the house. Like 300-people-with-two-lambs-on-the-spit types of parties,” Eleni said.
It was during these sorts of music-forward gatherings, as well as at music camps and festivals like Balkan Night Northwest, that Eleni first got interested in playing and performing Balkan music herself. She began performing traditional Greek music with her parents when she was only nine, playing hand percussion instruments. Eventually, she asked for more instruments—like drums, a stand-up bass, a saxophone, a trumpet—and once she was older, started traveling to Balkan countries to hone her craft.
In November 2018, Govetas co-founded The Melez Band with trumpet player Benji Rifati, who is half Roma. The band also includes Mik Bewsky on electric guitar, and Govetas’ brother Bobby Govetas, on goč, a type of percussion instrument from Serbia. The band just got back from traveling as a collective to Macedonia to study with Džambo Aguševi, a “hot-shot” contemporary trumpet player who’s quite popular in the Balkans.
With The Melez Band, Govetas pivots slightly from her parents—who still play primarily Greek and Bulgarian music. Govetas is particularly interested in another subset of Balkan music—that of the Romani people in Macedonia—but she makes it clear that she is not herself Roma.
“We’re playing Rom music, but we are all white,” said Govetas. “Benji is half Roma, but we all grew up here in the U.S. It’s touchy what we’re doing.”
It’s touchy because, as Govetas puts it, Romani people are the “kicking dog of the world”—especially throughout the Balkans. “There’s a level of oppression and lack of respect and acknowledgement of this minority group being the life of this music. Balkan musicians [are often] taking songs written by Rom musicians and calling them their own,” said Govetas.
For her part, Govetas has spent the time to learn the Roma people’s culture and history of oppression, she says, so she can play their music as respectfully as possible. Govetas has also traveled to Macedonia and Greece to study the music from the Roma people first-hand, and the band works with the Eastern European Folklife Center and Balkan Camp to better understand how they can appreciate Rom music without appropriating it.
“[I think you must] really spend time before you open your mouth or blow through your instrument to put your ego and self aside,” she said.
When they aren’t travelling, The Melez Band seems to be answering a demand for something different in Seattle. They played quite a few gigs in Seattle last year, many of them at major clubs rather than the cultural centers or weddings where Balkan music is more commonly heard. This change in venue is very conscious, and one of several ways Govetas and The Melez Band try to make Balkan music—often written in odd time signatures and keys—more accessible to the average listener.
“Most people just don’t know about Balkan music. It’s not the easiest thing to listen to if you’re new to it. We’re trying to break that wall down and bring people in and show that it’s easy to like,” said Govetas.
The Melez Band will plays Capitol Hill’s Lo-Fi at 9pm on Saturday January 25th, with funk band The Braxmatics and the soul-funk fusion of Holy Pistola.
This week, Bonny Doon — the Detroit alt-folk group made up of Bill Lennox, Bobby Colombo, Joshua Brooks and Jack Kmiecik — released a single from Longwave, the follow-up to last year’s self-titled debut. “I Am Here (I Am Alive)” is a lap steel-laden testament to uncertainty, meandering between life’s arbitrary observations and burning questions.
Opening with the lyrics “Moon, are you half empty or half full? / Is something missing I can’t tell? / Is there more I can’t see?” Colombo sets the stage for either an extremely contemplative or blissfully numb next five minutes, depending on your mood. The song continues with a string of metaphors set over hypnotizing percussion and woozy guitars, meeting at the relatable refrain: “Time, feel like I’m wasting time / Just wanna be where I’m goin’.” Same, Bonny Doon, same.
Listen to “I Am Here (I Am Alive)” below and look out for Longwave, scheduled for a March release date courtesy of Woodsist Records.
Few Detroit based singer-songwriters have hustled as hard as former Frontier Ruckus songstress Anna Burch, heartbreaker and sorceress of breathy lo-fi honesty. And as of last week, we aren’t the only ones to be enchanted by Burch’s brand of pretty pain and ennui. Polyvinyl Records (Xiu Xiu, Deerhoof and fellow Michigander Fred Thomas) announced Burch as the latest addition to their label last week after discovering her demo by word of mouth. The label celebrated by debuting Burch’s Noah Elliott Morrison directed video for her first single “2 Cool 2 Care.”
Exploring the impossible task of courting someone who is, well, too cool to care, Burch’s debut single shimmers with warmth despite detailing the lonesome effects of the cold shoulder and emotional ghosting. “2 Cool 2 Care” follows a restless Burch delicately trying to capture the attention of a passive lover, following him to his suburb, hula-hooping poolside with the confession “you scare me with your indifference/I like you best/when you’re a mess.” She effortlessly channels the likes of goddess Angel Olsen, but Burch is hardly following in anyone else’s footsteps.
Keep it cool and stay tuned for Burch’s debut LP, due out early 2018. For now, revisit summer vibes and shitty relationships with “2 Cool 2 Care” below:
Origin stories: they’re typically how I kick off these off, some pseudo-enticing meetcute in the heart of the scene. A half-drunken beg for an interview, an impromptu striptease, a deep side-eye at Two Boots Williamsburg. A chat in front of Little Sunnyville Gutterway Footskips Stadium. A bite from a radioactive spider. I mentally collect these origin stories, and yet I cannot remember meeting Davey Jones. Instead it feels like Davey’s been the perennial maypole at the center of our scene, linked to everyone. Lost Boy ?, as you damn well know, is a staple.
Incidentally, I played the everliving fuck out of my creamsicle copy of Goose Wazoo last October, savoring the trillions of clever pop culture references, floating in legitimate lo-fi heaven. Recently, Davey’s really inking and coloring the sound; the most recent Silent Barn iteration of the band is fleshed out by Jeremy Aquilino on bass, Adam Reich on guitar, and Charlotte Kahn on drums (and everyone else on air guitar).
But today it’s just the two of us, because Davey is fam, and with fam, you message them late on Friday like, “Dude, I was serious about having you as my October column, plz let’s hang out tomorrow.”
Anyway, I love a good Saturday morning adventure. Stay tuned.
The Scene: “We’re going to find Davey…and I don’t think that should be hard…because he is approximately…9 feet tall…give or take,” I mumble into my second iPhone, weaving around stacks of post-punk standards.
It’s the Brooklyn Flea Record Fair and in between quick flips of vinyls (hmm, do I need to throw down $10 for the Rock N’ Roll High School soundtrack?) I’m struggling to find Davey. But oh! There he is, and after salutations, he digs out his finds. The objective was Massive Attack, which he found for the decidedly NOPE price of $55.
“But I got Mosquito which is kind of an odd record,” he says showcasing the distressed pastel pink album cover. “It has Jad Fair of Half Japanese, and Steve Shelley, the drummer of Sonic Youth. The vocal, I think, is supposed to sound like a mosquito.”
“Like literally, like a buzzing noise?”
“They have a weird effect on Jad’s voice the entire record,” he says before showcasing the rest of his finds: a bizarro double Cure re-issue, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, and two cassettes. (“One for Nick, one for me.”)
We decide to go into the anxiety-inducing crowd of Smorgasburg and diverge to get our food; he’s gonna get the vegetable pancakes and word is the mozzarella sticks are hella good.
But like Rock N Roll High School, we confirm they’re not $10 good.
12:46 “You gotta get in on this,” Davey says, offering his plate of Okonomiyaki.
“Oh, I’m gonna get in on this.” I say, forking a sizable, quick-to-crumble bite. We’re in line about to grab beer and a table, a slow rendition of “Feel It Still” soundtracking our orders. There’s chit-chat about the Sharkmuffin girls (Nat is his GF, Tara is my Russell Hammond, you may know them from this website and just about everywhere else) and how they’re finally gonna be home after touring all year. Then I ask Davey how he wants to wrap up his 2017.
“I’m thinking maybe I’ll work on one animation specifically, and put it to song. It’s been kinda on my list of things to do. And I’ve been working on this character for a while.”
“THAT’D BE SO COOL, like a Lost Boy ? music video that you’d animate yourself?”
“I actually have like two characters, so I think they might both appear. I gotta figure out what the body would be for the bird with the spikey hair.” I demand receipts for these characters and he graciously provides them:
I squint at his iPhone screen. “So what are their personalities? This one seems sad…”
“Nosey’s like, obviously a nosey-body,” he explains. “And Bosey’s the kind of character that gets into trouble. Probably drinks too much.”
“Well, that’s why he has the stubble,” I confirm.
“He has stubble and a red nose, and Nosey’s probably always checking in on Bosey and knows too much about what’s going on in his life.”
“He knows all of his secrets.”
“And that’s why Bosey’s kind of depressed.”
“Because he’s an alcoholic and his friend knows that he’s trash,” I confirm, now fairly certain Bosey is my spirit animal. “You know what I love about animation in general? You have to convey certain personality traits but you also have to simplify it since it’s a simpler form of art. Which I think in some ways is more difficult; you either have to exaggerate it or have a good signifier, like a red nose or something.”
He nods. “You can get a personality just by looking at the character, right. You can get it just by the smirk or by the eyebrows. Maybe the mischievousness of even like…”
“…their posture,” we finish together.
1:02 “What was your favorite ride at Disney World?” I ask, and I kid you fucking not, Davey’s face lights up at this as if we’re literally next in line for Star Tours.
“Oh, oh, the Aerosmith ride! Yeah, I loved that ride, ’cause it was so fast, I think I went on that one three times.”
I am very certain that Natalie is a saint because you could not convince me to go on that once, let alone three times.
“That one and the Tower of Terror,” he continues. “I think that was my favorite place to go in Disney. That whole park, it’s more themed for adults. It kinda looks like you’re in Who Framed Roger Rabbit, and there’s alcohol.”
“And there’s alcohol, which is the best part,” I agree, remembering distinctly when my mom bought me a $12 strawberry marg there so I would stop complaining about being in Florida.
Apparently the couple managed to hit up all the rides except the Toy Story shoot-out game and Splash Mountain, tragically closed at the time. It’ll be the first stop for next time though, for sure.
“Are you hot?” Davey asks suddenly. “I feel like you’re in the sun pretty hard.”
“Um, I’m okay,” I say, developing all sort of weird tanlines.
1:27 Favorite Disney character though, go!
“It’s kind of hard not to say Mickey Mouse just because I love him so much,” Davey says, and remembering his Mickey costume at Little Skips last Halloween, I’m not surprised.
“He’s so classic though,” I feel this feel really hard because Brooklyn Year One was spent wearing a lot of red, white, and Mickey ears.
“It’s also just because Mickey was so innovative for future characters in a lot of other cartoons that aren’t even Disney.”
“He was like a template.”
“It’s not even that Mickey Mouse was the first cartoon, but he was just a perfectly crafted character,” Davey explains. “Now, from my understanding, Walt Disney did not totally create Mickey Mouse, I believe it was one of his good friends that designed Mickey Mouse. But even so, the character and his personality is so well developed, and so influential to Felix and even Popeye. Without Mickey Mouse you wouldn’t have great animation.” He pauses. “Mickey and Minnie Mouse, really,” he clarifies (#equality).
1:32 Btw some point around here we chit-chat of typical Saturday afternoon: propaganda cartoons, the utter terror of this administration, and whether people at their core are more good than evil. And we talk about Halloween costumes—him and Nat are going to “keep rocking the mouse theme” and go as Pinky and the Brain. I’m probably gonna be 1995 Gwen Stefani on this album cover.
“And I’m considered hiring, legit hiring some of my musician ex-lovers to be the three blurry guys in the background,” I explain.
“You should get together a No Doubt cover band of your ex-lovers and call it Tragic Kingdom,” Davey says.
We burst into a fit laughter as I die inside (only a little).
Anyway, I’d love to tell you more about that, but…
1:56 “Goddammit, we might need to hang out more because my phone just overheated and died.”
Luckily, Davey and I are both yearning for ice cream and figure it might be a good plan to antagonize our friends at the Van Leeuwen trucks.
We skim through a sidewalk sale where a man is unloading all of his music. I, someone who hates music entirely, chastise this guy for getting rid of all his Siouxsie & the Banshees impulse buys. Davey, ever a consummate music collector, reluctantly picks up another handful of cassettes, including a last minute Tears For Fears album.
“It’s funny because I was looking for that exact Tears for Fears album, and I didn’t even notice it, I just went back and double-checked.”
“There’s like, few greater joys than finding something in a different way then you’d expect it.”
We say hi to Zach (of Darkwing) at the Bedford hub, before hitting up Nick Rogers (of Holy Tunics and like one episode of Girls), and Lisa Mayer (of…all of our hearts) by Transmitter Park. There is a graphic design expo, so we hit that up before parting ways. The day, regardless of the tech heatstroke and the fact that everyone’s out of summer berry crumble, has been fruitful AF.
In one day we’re centralized in literal and figurative festivals of art, music, friendship and $10 motz sticks (I stroll by the Intimacy Expo on my way home but, mmm, hard pass). I love it: it’s like Brooklyn on steroids. And it feels right that I’d have this mini-adventure with Davey, even though, and now it’s nagging on me, I don’t remember when I met him.
But I guess that’s fine. That’s how it is with ubiquitous characters, particularly ones that define a culture in a few brilliantly simple strokes. You don’t remember being introduced to your big brother. You don’t remember the first time you saw Mickey Mouse.
You’re just grateful that you both co-exist in this weird, wonderful world.[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]
Detroit’s DIY rock scene has developed a penchant for teenage nostalgia and candy-coated wickedness. Clumsy with playful misconduct, Blood Stone is the latest quartet to make lo-fi faux innocence their M.O. Their newest track, “Friends ‘Til The End” could be sweetly committed or in need of being committed as our sinister siren confesses she’ll “laugh so hard when the fire starts” while insisting that though they call her a witch she’s “not one of those.” Masked in fuzzy guitar and Strokes-esque percussion, Blood Stone hands over their proverbial red flags with an arsenic-laced cheek kiss, making “Friends ‘Til The End” seem just a touch too permanent.
B.F.F. is the new R.I.P. with Blood Stone’s latest below:
Quickly rising as Detroit’s DIY pensive pop priestess, Stef Chura and her captivatingly peculiar lo-fi sensibilities shine and burn playfully in her latest video for “Spotted Gold,” the third single from her debut album Messes due out January 27. Chura’s candy-colored, battery acid coated disharmonious world beckons late 90’s MTV feels complete with pop-star commercialization and her signature voice, which teeters between collapse and eruption, finds its visual counterpart in “Spotted Gold.” The colors change quickly like the tuning of an old television set as does the wardrobes of Chura and her bandmates as if to But the most strikingly unsettling element is the montage of
The colors change quickly like the tuning of an old television set as does the wardrobes of Chura and her bandmates. But the most striking element is the montage of rapid-fire imagery depicting activities that are considered taboo (smashing a mirror) and bad judgment calls (pouring milk on a laptop) to completely self-destructive behaviors (drinking poison and playing finger/knife roulette) all of which end as badly as one might imagine. The aesthetic is clean, perhaps even sterile, but in Chura’s sugary torment, is messily sincere. It’s easy to interpret “Spotted Gold” as a mischievous night out or miscalculated reckless relationship but the lyrics: “Spotted gold turned black and blue” reveal that perhaps Chura’s sand-in-the-eyes, hand-on-the-stove universe is less of a lark than it is a tale of emotional masochism and that when a good thing goes bad, well, maybe we are more in control than we think.
No, your toaster doesn’t need a bath. Keep tinfoil out of your microwave and check out Stef Chura’s series of unfortunate events in “Spotted Gold” below:
Fred Thomas has a lot of feelings (and he really wants to talk about them). He may fear transformation in the same way he might fear another perturbed thought of how he could have prevented a previous love affair from going to pieces. He may relish in the scratching of the many surfaces that camouflage and protect his tender, gooey existential crisis-inflamed interiors. But what is made clear by Fred Thomas’ latest beautifully neurotic mind-mapping narration “Voiceover” (the first taste from his forthcoming record Changer due out later next month) is that he doesn’t quite have it all figured out and if he did, well, he might not know what to do.
“Voiceover” is a sleepless, chorus-deprived and worrisome dashboard “check engine” light. Self-deprecatingly confrontational, this pared back rock jam feels like a tightly woven string of doubts that overcame by means of emotional overload. The video is a life on loop. Repetitive thoughts are mirrored with commonly overlooked/performed imagery. From lipstick application (and lipstick removal) to uncorking wine, and to book to bookshelf placement to the subtle beauty of gently falling hemlines against the back of kneecaps, what is captured visually here is the same crisp mundanity expressed in Thomas’ artfully composed run-on sentences.
View Fred Thomas’ latest GIF-like emotional exploit below:
The video description for Car Seat Headrest‘s “Vincent” is simply: “Will plays the guitar while a guy has a bad time.” That’s about as concise as anyone could get, but the song is layered with a lot more meaning, imagery and emotion. It looks like Will Toledo, the creator and frontman of Car Seat Headrest, has given detailed explanations of the song’s lyrics online, but in the context of the official video, the words tell a story about how and why one drink can turn into way too many.
Scenes switch between a house party where Toledo performs and the apartment of “Vincent”‘s main character, a guy who looks like he’s been working in an office all day. It’s not clear if the party is something he’s trying to relive, or just in his own head. As the song begins with long, deliberate strums of distorted guitar, he pours himself a drink in his empty house. He looks sad when he’s sober, and Toledo repeats, “Half the time, I want to go home.” Then the booze kicks in, and so does the music: There’s the long, drawn-out static of guitar feedback, restless drums, and the sadly serious vocals of Toledo immersed in it all. Horns swirl around his voice when he chants, “It must be hard to speak in a foreign language/Intoxicado, intoxicado.” The band knows how to pull back and surge ahead at the right moments, and does so frequently, never settling until “Vincent” is over. It’s chaotic and messy, and embodies the video’s character as he loses restraint and gets completely wasted. At one point he unpacks a suitcase that’s filled only with liquor, a clear metaphor about replacing emotional baggage with booze.
Though the video is pretty dark, there are moments of subtle humor, like when the main character drunkenly cuddles a cat or when Toledo refers to playing a guitar as “holding a noise machine.” The video ends with the guy stripping down to his underwear and staggering to Toledo’s microphone as the crowd looks on, disgusted. If this last scene accompanied a different song, it might have comedic potential. But, instead of relieving the tension by making it a laughable moment, “Vincent” reaches for something that’s uncomfortable, but better.
Any simplicity in the music of Hinds is made up for in sheer attitude. Except for “The Garden,” most of their music videos feature footage of the members goofily singing along to their songs. The Madrid band’s personality is just as easily translated on Leave Me Alone, a fun, loose, and effortless album of lo-fi garage rock that will make you really, really want Hinds to be your new best friend.
The band started with Carlotta Cosials and Ana Perrote, who share guitar and vocals. Cosials will layer her sugary voice over Perrote’s deeper, tougher tone, then the two will split apart into different ideas or sing the same a beat apart. It’s a style that comes close to the disorganized side of casual, which makes it all the more endearing. After writing songs under the name Deers, Cosials and Perrote added bassist Ade Martin and drummerAmber Grimbergen, but were forced to change their name after another band threatened legal action. They’ve maintained a sense of humor about it, though: on their website, there’s an animated video game where you click your mouse to make a running deer jump over the band (hit a chili pepper, and you turn purple).
Their lyrics touch on the trickiness and frustration of dating with the same wry humor, warning about a girl who hides her flaws with “She always burns her warts… don’t let her waste your smile” and imploring a clueless crush to make a move on “Chili Town” because “I’ve been touching without hands/ Because you’re deaf and blind.” They provide a perfect balance between romance and independence, made clear through “I’ll make it simple, I don’t play no games/ I could be your baby, but I’ll be your man,” and on one of their best songs, “Bamboo:” “How could I show you without looking freaking mad/ That I am not always gonna be around/ And how could I show you without loosing all our time/ That I am not always gonna run behind.”
Leave Me Alone comes out tomorrow, but is currently streaming on NPR. In anticipation of its release, the band played a karaoke show at Palisades on Wednesday, inviting fans to sing their songs for them. Maybe Hinds just want to be our friend, too?
Minutes before the band gets on stage, I watch the crowd come together. For some reason at Knitting Factory, it’s always a mix of people you wouldn’t imagine listening to the artists playing that night, trickling in from the bar or stumbling upon a cheap show with nothing else to do.
Brooklyn’s own Honduras took the stage, only a couple of months off the release of their first full-length, Rituals.
They’re a punk band who sound something like the Sex Pistols with a dash of Blur (I keep feeling surprised Honduras aren’t from London), or perhaps their contemporaries, Parquet Courts, with that similar lo-fi feel.
The sound translates uniquely to the stage. There’s nothing too flashy about the performance, making you appreciate how clean Tyson Moore’s guitar work is juxtaposed with Josh Wehle’s gritty drums and Pat Philips’s muffled vocals.
It’s easy to pick up on the band’s subtle nuances. Paul Lizarraga likes to play his bass with the strap down low. Moore makes the most of his curly mop of hair, playing his Flying V with a ton of energy. And lead singer and rhythm guitarist Philips is the lovechild of Bradford Cox and Alex Turner. Tumbling on stage, his guitar strap falling off, there was something carnal about the way he clearly didn’t give a fuck.
The boys will be playing Knitting Factory again on December 14th, and Mercury Lounge on January 9th. Check out the music video for their first single “Paralyzed” here:
This Monday, as Thanksgiving travel plans peak over the horizon, there is an energy of paused excitement. Today’s vibe is a little weird. To honor that, we’re going to share with you something a little weird for New Music Monday. We have the debut track “Sgoraet” from Russian artist Kedr Livanskiy. Kedr Livanskiy is Russian for Lebanese Cedar. The lo-fi synth-y ” “Sgoraet” (Russian for “Burning Down”) is equal parts scary and romantic, but not scary and romantic like a Tinder date held in a botanical garden, but scary and romantic like an old Italian horror film about doomed ballerinas.
When I looked at their band name, I expected Ghastly Menace to be some kind of punk group, or possible a metal or grunge outfit. But you can’t always judge a band by its name, and I didn’t hear anything ghastly or menacing. Instead, what came through my speakers was a debut album from a lo-fi pop band, reminiscent of Grizzly Bear or The Pains of Being Pure at Heart.
Ghastly Menace is now a six-piece band from Chicago. After members Andy Schroeder and Chris Geick released their 2010 EP Pitcairn, they added Kody Nixon, Michael Heringhaus, Pat Lawler, and Clint Weber for their first official album, Songs of Ghastly Menace, released through The Record Machine on January 27th.
For a band’s debut, it’s impressive. Ghastly Menace has figured out their own style, but even within it, they show range and depth. The album starts out strong with its first two singles, “80s” and “Closing,” full of catchy and layered with infectious drums, well-placed guitar hooks, keyboard melodies and bass that glides along beneath it all. The record changes pace with the next two tracks. “You let me do too many things without you/ Know I don’t know how to do them with you,” is sung in harmony on the quiet, “Living Together,” which builds up slowly but always returns to its original tone. In “While You’re Here,” the vocals are laid bare, with only light shakes of percussion and occasional background noise before the track builds up. The only song that sounds out of place on Songs of Ghastly Menace is the seventh track “She Won’t Stay Long,” a piano ballad that breaks the tone of the rest of the record.
Ghastly Menace is able to find a perfect balance with their first album- music that’s low-key without being lazy, vocals that are sleepy without putting you to sleep, and the ability to keep calm without being emotionless. There’s also some interesting sound effects scattering through the record. The band has said that they use “non-instrumental sounds and techniques” on the album, which left me unable to guess what some cool sounds were, but I’m pretty sure someone sacrificed a glass or two while recording “On Our Way.” Whatever sonic experiment Ghastly Menace is conducting, it’s a success.
You can download Songs of Ghastly Menace here, and check out “Closing” below!
Tomorrows Tulips was born from the ashes of front man/pro-surfer Alex Knost’s previous venture, Japanese Motors, and a fortuitous experiment with his girlfriend at the time, Christina Kee. The twosome embarked on a musical union inspired by Kee’s fledgling foray into drumming, and by the next day, the group had the seeds of several songs. Following the pair’s only release, Knost was joined by Ford Archbold (bass, vocals) and Jamie Dutcher (drums) to create 2013’s Experimental Jelly and now, When – both on Burger Records.
Much exploratory elbow grease has gone into crafting the sound of this curious collaboration that prides itself on a “shambolic” approach. With every rendering, the group has fallen more fully into a chaotic, DIY sound that is completely their own. Originally motivated by 1960s rock & roll, Knost took refuge in the genre’s penchant for guts and creativity over technical ability. With When, their wave-riding nature has paid off, and a commitment to process has fed their efforts in creating a sound which embraces emotional transparency.
An acoustic, lo-fi wash and ear-catching chord progression serve as the canvass for “Surplus Store.” The track paints its subject vividly: “He pulls his tricks out of three-quarter sleeves / And combs his hair like the 90s / Hides a shoebox full of his broken dreams / A dirtbag revolution airing out in the seams.” On the bridge, Knost demonstrates his guitar chops, jamming on a solo that peals with rich, elastic groove.
Resounding with achy rumbles and feedback on the edge, When‘s title track stops and starts in husky contemplation. Haunting and dreamy, “When” captures what Tomorrows Tulips does best. The grainy, amped guitar line runs alongside the heavy echo of Archbold’s bass, eventually fading out and giving way to “Favorite Episode,” a mostly instrumental, experiential journey that rises and falls with reincarnations of a single, entrancing theme. Grunge-rattled growler “Glued to You” picks things back up, marked by breathy vocals and the perpetual pulse of the bass. The deep, uneasy grind of the guitar burrows into the darkly melodic refrain that chants, “Stay glued to you,” tapering off into ethereal, reverb-soaked oohs.
The appropriately-named conclusion of the record, “Clear,” closes the album with melodic reflection. Meditative and uplifting, it flows forth gently with tumbling riffs, steady strumming, and whimsical flits of flute, triangle, and strings. Both the vocals and lead guitar carry the melody line through, lulling the listener with the simplicity of a doubly-delivered refrain.
Mellow, lo-fi, and California-infused, it’s no wonder Tomorrows Tulips has culled such descriptions as “loser rock” and “bummer pop,” yet the band’s heart is anything but lackadaisical. Knost has been quoted saying that his ultimate muse is isolation in a world “masked by media, fashions, trends, and technology.” With When, Tomorrows Tulips has ventured their farthest yet, daring to put expression first on a mission to transcend vapid means of existence and reveal an inner life marked by authenticity.
I’m not sure how common this practice is, but when I was in elementary school, teachers had this trick where they would whisper at a rowdy classroom to get the kids to quiet down instead of trying to yell over the noise. It worked: kids got curious after ten or fifteen seconds, and wanted to hear what the teacher was saying.
Swedish singer Alice Boman, with her silvery voice and light dusting of backing instrumentals, has the whisper trick licked. The songs on EP II (the digital version of which includes last year’s EP Skisser – Swedish for “Sketches”) draw attention precisely because they don’t overexert themselves trying to command your ears. It’s been well documented that Boman didn’t envision an international audience when she wrote EP II, and even less so with Skisser, which was recorded as a bunch of demos and don’t have titles beyond “Skiss 2,” or “Skiss 8,” etc.
Considering that the album that doesn’t really take audience into account, it’s worth noting that EP II persistently returns to themes of being observed and observing. What do you see when you look at me? kicks off the whole thing, the opening line of the opening track “What.” Lava lamp-like, that song drifts back and forth between melancholy – the eerie brokenness that comes naturally to Boman’s wispy songwriting style – and a surprising optimism. We float onward through “Over” and “Burns,” both of which hit some real transcendence in the high notes, despite lyrics like It burns, it burns, now you are gone. I am done. Those apex moments – usually underscored with an extra pop of vocal harmony or piano melody – pack a lot of wallop into just a little bit of momentum.
Like Skisser, this collection loses focus in places. This isn’t a direct result of its obliqueness, but Boman still seems like she hasn’t quite figured out how close she wants to be to her audience. Listening to the album takes patience: getting to the payoff requires your full attention but doesn’t seize it by force. EP II showcases a more mature collection than we saw with Skisser, but as a songwriter, Boman still operates very much in her own head on this new release. That will have to change before long–this EP will likely be the last she makes as a little-known performer. It will be interesting to see, on albums to come, what an Alice Boman song looks like when it has been intended for widespread consumption since its inception.
Until then, enjoy the rough drafts. You can go here to purchase the album, which came out last week– if you’re in the US, EP II will include the Skisser EP as well. Watch the video for “Waiting,” off EP II, below:
In 2006, during the Northeast’s creepiest and most beautiful time of year–fall–Damon McMahon started recording his tightly knotted, introspective guitar melodies in the Catskills, never intending them for public consumption. Thus Amen Dunes was born, and thus–essentially–it remains: the music is simple, lonesome and woodsy, with a healthy dose of the otherworldly-creepy sensation you get from spending a lot of time alone with the Hudson Valley’s sinisterly beautiful landscape.
“Lonely Richard,” off the forthcoming album Love (out 5/13 on Sacred Bones) illustrates McMahon’s penchant for interiority–his voice, small-sounding and thick with melancholy, takes a back seat to the guitars, which screech and whine and slide all over this track. There’s a folky simplicity at the heart of it, but much more immediate is the drone of the instrumentals–how the guitar lines repeat and loop over themselves, how the strings maintain such a constant pitch that they lose form by the end of the song, assuming an atmospheric presence that evokes wind, or clouds, or something else just as environmental. The track builds low and slow, then fades away just as subtly. It’s sort of an anti-social number, but the simple chord structure underlying it keeps “Lonely Richard” from being unfriendly.
In typical fashion, Amen Dunes have released a single that reveals practically nothing about the album to come–the track wouldn’t be gripping enough to save a lethargic album or to temper an overly sweet one, but by itself, “Lonely Richard” has a deceptively compelling low-grade catchiness that will, if nothing else, awaken your curiosity. Wet your whistle with “Lonely Richard,” via Soundcloud:
Frankie Rose’s penchant for lo-fi garage pop is pretty obvious by now—not only did she play key roles, over the years, as a member of the Vivian Girls, Dum Dum Girls, and Crystal Stilts, but she also developed her own sound as a solo artist. Now she’s teamed up with Drew Citron (from her touring band) for a new project called Beverly, and it might just be her best effort yet. The duo’s second single, “You Can’t Get It Right,” is a sweet taste of their upcoming debut album, Careers, out July 1 via Kanine Records.
The song has a lo-fi aesthetic with catchy guitar hooks that sound warped and almost menacing as the girls sing “And maybe this time you’ll know to get in line with me.” They bare their teeth at the same time that they flash a sweet smile. The overall sound brings The Breeders/The Amps to mind, but this tune’s got a faster heartbeat and brighter tone that makes it perfect for summer.
“You Can’t Get It Right” follows the release of Beverly’s first single, “Honey Do,” which is an equally catchy and fuzzy track. Both are good indications that Careers will be one of this summer’s highlights. Check out this week’s track of the week below!
“I feel so lonesome I could cry,” Angel Olsen half warbles, half snarls on “Hi-Five.” The new single off her forthcoming album, Burn Your Fire for No Witness, blasts by in just under three minutes . Olsen’s voice bristles with clarity, striking a shimmering balance between vulnerability, earnestness, and rock and roll swagger. Pegged as an early frontrunner for a 2014 favorite, Olsen released her debut, Halfway Home in 2012. The first album favored folky acoustic guitar stripped down to spotlight the singer’s voice—one worth spotlighting, with a barreling, Southen-tinged electricity to it that ultimately overpowered its acoustic backdrop.
Nothing could make Olsen’s voice sound bad, but “Hi-Five” is flattered by its harshly lo-fi backdrop. Swampy guitar lines seethe in reverb, prolonging their high notes in the same way that Olsen draws out the highlights of her vocal lines. One of the singer’s many talents has always been an elegant lyrical handling of angst; her songs deal with isolation, betrayal, and being unable to speak one’s mind. The vocal lines double back on themselves too quickly to be mistaken for self-pity, the dejection cracks a smile, and on “Hi-Five,” Olsen follows up the crooning “Are you lonely too? Are you lonely too?” with an unsentimental “High five, so am I.”
The new album is a more rugged approach to familiar material, but that doesn’t mean Burn Your Fire will lose the intimacy of Olsen’s previous work. Although the increase in guitar work can make it seem, on first listen, as if Olsen is abandoning the folky stylings we saw so much of in Halfway Home, it’s really just a punchier interpretation of the same gorgeous, forlorn soul music. Instead of a new direction, Olsen’s recent singles seem to better encapsulate the goals she’s always had.
Burn Your Fire for No Witness will be out February 18th on Jagjaguwar. You can listen to “Hi-Five” below via SoundCloud, and click here to watch the video “Forgiven/Forgotten,” the first single off the new album.
Honestly, I’m still at a loss as to why this 12″–an assembly of three remixed tracks off 2013’s full-length Sleeper–exists. Carmen Hillestad, alias Carmen Villain, who ended a successful modeling career three years ago to focus on playing and writing music, released Sleeper this past March, bringing with it a delicately crafted blend of ethereal psych-rock and lo-fi nineties grit. The vocals on that album–the best and most conspicuous aspect of Villain’s performance–seemed to by turns float over and grab at the melodies, always with a palpable undertone of something ominous in the background. The first single off that album, “Lifeissin,” struck that balance exquisitely, creating out of Villain’s voice a persona that was empathetic as well as occasionally becoming a bit obscured and even scary. Unadorned bored-but-beautiful vocals, which, at some points, channelled Nico of The Velvet Underground & Nico, made creepy lyrics (“Stories be told, this is a life, open the curtains/Do you believe I’m going to hell?”) creepier.
But the least satisfying aspects of Sleeper–the album’s floating directionlessness that couldn’t, for all its distortion-licked guitar lines and catchy, cyclical vocal hooks, carry momentum through all twelve tracks–can only be magnified through remix. The original album needed more grabbing and less floating. On the most recent EP, Villain abandons all semblance of storytelling in the vocals in favor of creating an entirely atmospheric sound. Her voice has no life of its own on this recording, and merely operates in service to the instrumentals.
Which would be fine, if the original versions of the songs didn’t depend so heavily on the persona Villain created to fit them when she released her first album. The mysterious, mysteriously dark character that we first encountered moving through Sleeper does not really make an appearance on this newly envisioned collection of tracks. However, since the songs were initially created with a heavier vocal presence, the listening experience feels lacking, as if there’s a giant hole in the sound.
“Most of my songs are about escaping something–escaping this weird vacuum, an unsatisfying world,” Villain has said. Indeed, the three extended tracks on this album– “Dreamo (Peaking Lights Remix),” “Obedience (Bjørn Torske Remix)” and “How Much (A JD Optimo Mix)”–all have a hunted feel to them. This is mostly due to the percussion line, which carries strong weight on every track, leading the surrounding collection of instrumentals in gentle, almost playful, journeys up and down their registers. The color of the melody is always shifting slightly, never sitting still for longer than a few seconds. The attention paid to keeping the instrumentals alive and vibrant on this album adds nice dimension to each track, although (for me, at least) this is no substitution for the strong vocal presence we saw on the full-length release. That being lacking, the mystery on its way towards being developed in Sleeper now feels flattened, overly obscure and boring.
Imagine going to a play, and discovering that in this play there will be no actors and no story line, only an elaborate stage set and really, really good lighting. That’s kind of the experience of listening to Carmen Villain’s remixes. Somewhere in the reinterpretation, these songs have lost a lot of their pull since appearing as originals on Sleeper.
You can go hereto purchase the Sleeper Remixes EP via Amazon, or herefor the original Sleeper CD via Saki Store. Also, be sure to check out “Dreamo (Peaking Lights Remix)” via Soundcloud below!
Philadelphia native Kurt Vile(and his touring band, The Violators) drew in a large crowd for his Friday night show at Terminal 5. Vile plans to begin touring extensively across the US and Europe for the remainder of the year in support of his most recent album, Wakin on a Pretty Daze, released earlier this year through Matador Records. The bill also included Lee Ranaldo and The Dust–consisting of Sonic Youth’s guitar virtuoso, Lee Ranaldo and drummer Steve Shelley–and Brooklyn indie band Beach Fossils.
Vile, who has been a musician since the age of 14, has cited lo-fi legends like Pavement and Tom Petty as some of his major influences. Wakin on a Pretty Daze (Vile’s 5th studio album) has received much acclamation and has been referred to as his most musically solid work to date.
Beach Fossils took the stage first, opening with material off of Clash The Truth, including the dreamy, new-wave song “Generational Synthetic” Joy Division-like post-punk “Shallow,” and the lighter indie-pop melody entitled “Careless.”
Fellow Matador labelmates Lee Ranaldo and The Dust followed, bringing forth material from their most recent work, Between The Time and The Tides. Songs such as “Xtina as I Knew Her” and “Fire Island (phases)” exhibited Ranaldo’s desire to drift away from his signature experimental work in Sonic Youth, and instead hinted a number of 60’s rock influences, such as the Grateful Dead and the blues rock band, Hot Tuna.
The setlist for Kurt Vile and The Violators mostly included material from the Vile’s last three albums. The band started off with the 9 minute opener “Wakin on A Pretty Day,” Vile’s face buried underneath his infamous mangled, brown hair, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ before following with the drowsy tune “Jesus Fever” from 2011’s Smoke Ring for My Halo. Vile then resumed performing material off of Wakin on a Pretty Daze, such as the droning indie-psych single “Never Run Away,” as well as the Petty-esque “KV Crimes” and the bouncier “Was All Talk”, the background instrumentals slightly reminiscent of 80’s pop. Vile took a moment to perform a couple of acoustic songs–including the fan favorite “Peeping Tomboy”– while sitting on a tie-dye blanket draped couch near the corner of the stage. The lights throughout the venue dimmed, save for the spotlight focused on him. Vile resumed alongside The Violators after a couple of technical difficulties (“We’re sorry, this is a very blue-collar production we have here” he mumbled jokingly), playing a couple songs (“Hunchback,” “Freak Train”) off of Childish Prodigy, and was greeted with much enthusiasm.
Though some may argue that Wakin on a Pretty Daze greatly differs from Kurt Vile’s earlier material, there is no doubt that he and his now semi-permanent touring band have the potential to enrapture audiences through live performance. Kurt Vile and The Violators offer a truly innovative type of psychedelic, lo-fi that will keep ardent listeners talking for years to come.
