Musicurious

Released on: 16 March 2012
They’re from: Alexandria, Virginia / Boston, Massachusetts
Sounds like: Two doses of twinkly, mathy screamo recorded through a thick sheet of fog.
Hear it: http://sinatradc.bandcamp.com/album/sinatra-i-kill-giants-split

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I was pretty jazzed to finally hear Sinatra 2.0, which makes a lot of sense if you recall my review of Sinatra 1.0 and their EP Lost in Hyrule. After the first few seconds of the 6-minute-plus “I Had Three or a Lot of Beers,” however, it’s pretty apparent that we aren’t in Hyrule anymore.

New Sinatra isn’t leaner and meaner; it’s moodier, less crisp, and nimble as a tugboat— sweet, slow, and heavy like math-rock dunked in molasses— simultaneously more atmospheric and more noisy, sporting chunks of distressed feedback— yet still distantly dancey, especially during the piecey instrumental “Spectral Analysis” that seems to channel Pneu and Fang Island all at once.

What’s both exciting and worrisome about Sinatra’s half of the split is that I can’t get a handle on the band’s sound. They’re like a math-rockin’, noise-rockin’, 7-tentacled hentai beast, but I’ve only got a few available orifices. I know it’s only a two-song effort on their part, and I hesitate to call it unfocused, but fuck it, I’m calling it unfocused. As much promise as each of Sinatra’s many new phallic rape tentacles show, I miss the tighter songwriting of Lost in Hyrule. It’s not like I begrudge them for exploring their sound though— two songs on a split is probably the best place to do it.

On the other half of the split, we have I Kill Giants— a band I’m not entirely familiar with. Having put a few listens under my belt, they’re pretty fuckin’ cool. Think a screamier, jazzier, messier Ghost Cat. And that quintessential math-rock guitar tone! You’ll know it when you hear it in the first thirty seconds of “Sirens.” Poppier and more angular than their split-mates, I Kill Giants rock cleans and spoken word on top of their screams, and the combination’s quite refreshing.

“X’s” rings out punkier, looser, feels more like earlier Clair de Lune, maybe On the Might of Princes— with a turn-of-the-millennium sort of lo-fi production. The dancey midpoint that segues into a lengthy instrumental section is one of the better moments on the split. With their tireless guitar parts and frenetic rounds of scattered vocal deliveries, I Kill Giants are a neat counterpoint to Sinatra.

From the standpoint of a more casual listener, both bands could stand some cleaner production, but the respectable amount of new ideas packed into this split will give it some staying power with the cool kids. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears de-waxed for more offerings from Sinatra and I Kill Giants in the future.

Released on: 13 September 2011
They’re from: Californ-i-a
Sounds like: Me First and the Gimme Gimmes singing in Japanese.
Hear it: I don’t have a stream for you, see the song I posted the other day.

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For the uninitiated, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes are punk rock super-group of sorts who for the past decade and a half have only played punk-infected covers. Can you guess the shtick of their new EP Sing in Japanese? For the record, no, I’m not proud of you for guessing that they’re doing covers of classic Japanese bands. This isn’t Blue’s Clues.

To cut to the chase, for the Gimme Gimmes fan, this is a day one purchase. It’s just under 16 minutes of the same unadulterated fun you’ve come to expect. But maybe you’re like me, a casual listener, maybe you recognize the iconic name but have never listened. You’re wondering, does Sing in Japanese have legs beyond the gimmick? Is it worth the eight dollar price tag ($10 at Amazon) for six tracks? My answer: no, not really. It’s suitable for a listen or two on a lark, or to show off to your friends, but a small fraction of the tracks really retain any sort of replay value.

To chase away any xenophobes now, yes, Spike is singing almost entirely in Japanese, save for a few token English phrases extant in the original songs. If you are the kind of person who needs lyrics to attach to, break out your Japanese-English dictionaries now. But honestly, if you’ve made a habit of listening to Envy, Daitro, or heck, Nena’s “99 Luftballons,” the foreign language is a welcome change of pace, rather than a distraction.

Musically, Sing in Japanese is virtually indistinguishable from all of punk’s various American flavors. “Kekkon Shiyoyo” even features some riffage that distinctly drips with Americana. In some respects, the Gimme Gimmes’ ability to synthesize classic Japanese tracks into punk easily-consumable by American audiences is to be applauded, but a part of me wishes there was a more distinctly Eastern “flavor” to the six tracks. And in the case of closer “Linda Linda,” the Gimme Gimmes neuter the original by injecting the track with a slowed-down, ska sort of swagger.

If you’re in need of a quick litmus test, give “Kokoro no Tabi” and “Hero” a listen. They are probably the two best tracks off the short EP. If you dig them, you might have the chops to enjoy the remainder of Sing in Japanese. If you don’t, pat yourself on the back for being multicultural today, and move along. At this point, the Gimme Gimmes know who their core audience is. Bottom line, Sing in Japanese is a gimmick release from a niche band. I can’t recommend it unless you’ve got the money to blow or a Japanese girl named Linda to impress.

Bright and sunny, simple and fun, Yellow is a perfect summer album. It’s a meadow of swaying sunflowers. It’s a sprawling beach on a clear day, with not a single person in sight. It’s a long drive to somewhere new, windows down, speed only slightly unsafe. Of all of the EPs that comprise The Color Spectrum, I’d love for Yellow to be a full-length. There’s this indomitable undercurrent of good times waiting to be had billowing through each of Yellow’s four songs.

The strummy, acoustic and optimistic opening of “She’s Always Singing” marks a clear change of pace from the heaviness of Orange, Red and Black. Instead of viscous electrics and antiquated organ; mandolin, acoustic and steel guitar set a cheery mood. Bells, or perhaps a toy piano, add a new and decidedly un-heavy dose of percussion. Evident almost immediately, “She’s Always Singing” is a simple, poppy love song, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. The vocal lines in the verses course with liveliness, the choruses are expansive, and the internal rhyme and assonance in the first few words, “And every other lover—” just beg you to finish the rest,”—in this city, has got a sing to sing, but none of them ring in my ears.” And if that doesn’t inspire you to sing out, the bridge of bas will do it.

“The Dead Don’t Starve” is a much slower song, with long, drawn-out melodies and distant layers of placid tremolo. It’s a lazy sort of song that’s just pleasant to listen to, with a short solo replete with distorted guitars. But the lyrics belie a greater complexity very easily missed as the song lulls you into a peaceful trance— and I’ll admit I don’t understand them just yet:

“Raise the dead and hope the living want to live with them,
Cutting heads, demanding reparations for your kin,
While some will starve.

I understand that you never had enough,
‘Cos enough for someone is not enough for you.

Caving in and catering to—
Thoughts are paper thin—
Won’t go unknown—

Those lyrics, coupled with the song’s title, suggest violence, vengeance, craving— something heavier and more substantial than what I was expecting of Yellow. But that may just be me.

“A Sua Voz” has a gentle, breezy, Island-lounge sort of feel, though the lyrics chronicle a confused lover trying reconcile the nature of his relationship: “I guess I shouldn’t blame you for being ambiguous. I know that it’s innocent, but you are keeping me from something intimate, but I’ll give in if you want me to.” What sounds like a peaceful and beautiful sort of song on the outside is actually quite embattled, but instantly relatable for most people, I’d wager— which may just add to the quaint beauty of the track.

“A Sua Voz” bleeds right into “Misplaced Devotion,” and the lyrics bleed together as well, with Crescenzo potentially painting a more in-depth picture of this same complicated relationship across the two songs. Opening with, “Hey girl, let’s lose ourselves today. We can go anywhere. We need to get away, so say the word, and we’ll turn around and leave this place behind. Come on, you’re never gonna need him, that’s why you’re in my room tonight. So go on, you know you need it, that’s why you’re in my room tonight,” I’d like to think the songs on Yellow tell the story of a summer fling: a guy simply becoming infatuated with a girl, but then the relationship gets complicated, as what they both want is not the same thing, and then they learn more about each other: the girl has a boyfriend already, but the guy still wants her, and he’s damn well going to try to convince her.

This song is probably my favorite on Yellow. It’s got that quintessential light, summery feel, but it’s a driving, energetic song. And then it matures; suddenly, there is a certain gravity to the song. You can feel the passion and the persistence— there’s no room for uncertainty now. It’s the final act, and the sound grows. Chanting choruses swell, the instrumentation surges forth, and for a few minutes, Crescenzo and his band manage to channel that same resplendent sort of captivating power Mumford & Sons are so good at creating.

Yellow is thoroughly different. Its simple, acoustic leanings are somewhat unfamiliar territory to The Dear Hunter, who typically stick to big, complex and bombastic. But I think they handle it with aplomb. No pun intended, but Yellow is definitely a highlight of The Color Spectrum. Okay, I intended that.

Tomorrow? Green.

Genre: Alt. Country / Americana
From: Denver, Colorado
Released: 1 March 2011 

I thought I’d try something different this time around. Usually, I write up my posts after thoroughly digesting an album (read: 2-3 listens to get a handle on it). In the case of Slim Cessna’s Auto Club, which I imagine is only going to be both bizarre and hecka country like an episode of Jerry Springer called Incestuous and Loving It, I’m going to be typing up my thoughts - good or bad - as I listen to the album.

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Have I ever mentioned how much I love banjo? It comes with the territory of not listening to a ton of folk and Americana, but I feel like it’s a very underutilized instrument. Unentitled kicks off with the track “Three Bloodhounds Two Shepherds One Fila Brasileiro,” and, if you couldn’t tell, features some pretty kickin’ banjo lines. The whole feel of the track is rather dramatic, with a deep, haunting bassline and lilting organs underneath layered male and female vocals. The singing really isn’t much to write home about yet, lacking in any real character. It’s just kind of there.

The next track, “The Unballed Ballad Of The New Folksinger,” is chock full of Modest Mouse vibes and a bassline that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Sublime song. There’s a pretty neat solo into a chanty bridge in the latter half of the song. From what I’m hearing so far, this is a band that sounds like they’d be much better in a live setting. The music sounds surprisingly big, and would probably take the edge off of these vocals. The problem here is that this is not a live setting.

And just to prove me wrong, “Thy Will Be Done” is instantly a quieter, more subdued song, and it reminds me a lot of Ether-Electrified Porch Music-era Carbon Leaf. I gotta admit, these vocals are quickly getting on my nerves. Remember when I said they didn’t have a lot of character? Yeah, now there’s too much of it. A little too much warble, a little too much whine; it’s that slight difference between sounding unpolished and actually being unpolished.

Getting further and further into this album, I’m noticing that there are definitely parts of the music that I love individually that isn’t coming together as a love for the whole of it. The upright bass is great. The steel guitar is cool when it shows up. The organs were nice as a change of pace, but they’re a persistent instrument throughout every song, and it’s starting to sound like a baseball game in the background. I’m waiting for the Dada dada dada, CHARGE! And these vocals! Ugh. They’re… unique.

Again, as if the album is listening to me and is consciously trying to wrong me, “A Smashing Indictment of Character” has started out by pumping straight-up banjo doo-wop into my bitterly weeping ears. The track proper, once it kicks in, is pretty mediocre. It’s— okay wait, I swear this album has gained sentience. The moment I say something mean about the track, they decide to add some handclaps, which are like aural crack to me. Hold on. Let me relish these few seconds of respite. Mmm, handclaps…

Unentitled would be a decent soundtrack to doing something else. It’s not aggressively bad, and I could see bobbing my head to the beat while not actually paying attention and enjoying it. I realize that isn’t necessarily a good thing.

“My Last Black Scarf” is more ska-grass, or maybe land-locked surf-rock. “Hallelujah Anyway” features their vocals at their cleanest and thus absolute worst, but I’m actually cautiously enjoying the instrumentation. It’s very delicate and tripping.

Oh good, spoken word. Because every mediocre alt. country album needs spoken word sections.

Actually, it sort of works; it’s obvious that this song tells much more of a defined story than the other tracks.

Agh, nevermind, I hate the instrumentation. And the vocals. Now the whole track is just a perfect storm of shrill annoyance. 

Let’s wrap the track up with a warbly spoken-word-down! Spinkick linedance time! Feel the slapbanjo and strum some sweet open chords!

I think I’m losing it. Luckily I’ve only got one track left. Be merciful, Slim Cessna’s Auto Club.

The final track, “United Brethren,” starts out with heavy organ, and kind of sounds like a twisted carnival that I’d never, ever want to visit. The sticky, molesty kind of carnival. It breaks down into a simple vocal line over more obnoxious organ. Someone take this organ away from them! Three minutes left. Organ. Organ. Organ. Bad vocals. Organ. Hey a little marching snare work. Organ. Organ. I get this song is religious and that churches use a lot of organ but not even the longest, most Catholic mass has this much organ please stop!

Oh hey, the organ stopped. Why does this keep happening? I swear this album is listening to me oh damn it the organ is back. One minute left. One minute. This song has done barely anything new since it started five minutes ago. Usually songs grow, build upon themselves, fluctuate, change, y’know, keep themselves interesting and— nevermind this album is over I am so thankful for this beautiful silence ahhhhhhhhh. Do you hear that? Me neither. 

Alright. Unentitled was a well-intentioned album that seemed to have a lot of diverse influences, but wasn’t too diverse itself. And I wouldn’t recommend listening to it all in one sitting.

Regret-O-Meter: Dun, dun, dundundun! CLAP, CLAP, CLAPCLAPCLAP! I don’t think I’ll be able to attend a baseball game ever again.