Cat Power - Jukebox (2008)

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

Covers of songs used to be way more popular. What happened? For many, there's just way too much music now. People's hands are too busy listening to stuff they haven't heard to work up the enthusiasm to devote any significant amount of time to reinterpretations of old music. Still, the occasional cover here and then can be genuinely refreshing provided the artist puts in enough of their own flair to warrant the new version. There are some selections on Jukebox where Chan Marshall definitely shows that talent. It's hard to imagine the need for a re-do of Liza Manelli's "New York" or "Hank Williams' "Ramblin Woman," but Marshall's sexy crooning and her band's lo-key somber jamming strengthen the core progressions in unique ways. Lee Clayton's "Steel Stallion" feels like a completely new song thanks to the benefit of revitalized sound quality. And there simply couldn't be a more appropriate track for her to cover than Joni Mitchell's "Blue". The smooth-jazz organs and chords enhance the original with a ghostly quality and immediacy that that ranks it among Talk Talk's best. But Jukebox is just filled with too much filler. Marshall doesn't seem to have much soul covering James Brown and George Jackson and the "why fix it if it's not broken" philosophy applies to a disappointingly grounded version of her own "Metal Heart". The fact that the strongest track is the only new original Cat Power tune is saying something. The sweetly moving "Song To Bobby" is a much more satisfying tribute to Dylan than the plodding soft-rock revival of "I Believe In You", a selection from one of the worst albums of his career, and is enough to get anyone hankering for a genuine Cat Power follow-up to The Greatest. For an example of a cover album done right, listen to The Covers Record. Songs from that album have entered the regular go-to Cat Power canon and a handful have even been chosen for movie soundtracks. That's the mark of a successful cover project. But at this stage in her career, Jukebox is evidence that an EP would probably have been a better choice. Read more...

Vetiver - Thing of The Past (2008)

3.0 ★/6.0 - 6.9

The reason why any genre revivalist succeeds as more than an outdated tribute to an overdone style is because of the unique elements and variations they bring to the table. Let's look at the burgeoning folk scene, for instance. Although more recently dying down, the past five years or so has been honored with spectacular folk-revival albums by artists such as Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsom. The former introduced a wildly varied take on organic traditionalist styles, given more modern relevance by his crooning, unruly snarls and hippie ideals. And the latter fuses harp-playing, love-it-or-hate-it childlike-yelps, fantastical poetry and conceptual adventurousness, putting her at the forefront of ground-breaking music today. "Freak Folk" may have become a damning tag, but any artists that can fuse such a rootsy genre with experimental, forward-thinking elements deserve a medal or two. With so much competition, Vetiver's self titled debut album earned itself three. A weightless journey through a natural yet fantastic terrain, heightened by dramatic strings and beautifully psychedelic textures, Vetiver is an overlooked album that still sounds fresh four years later. Sadly, the band seemed to levitate a little closer to earth for their sophomore effort. Their influences were a little more apparent and the songs themselves hinted at more traditional soft rock and country territory. As a result, To Find Me Gone is a mildly enjoyable yet unessential album that hasn't aged as well.

So now Thing of The Past is here to make the band's influences 100% percent clear, with covers spanning from Garland Jeffreys to Ian Matthews, and Vetiver has become a significantly less interesting band because of it. Admittedly, many of these songs are super obscure, so the criticism of "what's the point?" isn't warranted. And tracks like Norman Greenbaum's "Hook And Ladder", Biff Rose's "To Baby" and Loudon Wainwright's "Swimming Song" contain timelessly catchy and folksy hooks that deserve to re-presented to the general population. But Vetiver's true strengths shine gloriously on the unconventional tracks. "Roll On Babe" revitalizes Ronnie Lane with a misty weightlessness while "Hurry On Sundown" illuminates the band's love of jamming and classic rock through one of Hawkwind's better known progressive southern ho-downs. They disappointingly remind us that the bulk of the album ditches these exciting elements for pleasant yet forgettable staples, void of dynamics, soul or original flair that would warrant a track to be covered - lifeless renditions of Elyse Weinberg's "Houses", Townes Van Zandt's "Standin" and Michael Hurley's "Blue Driver" for example. This hit and miss affair is saved at the end by Bobby Charles' "I Must Be In A Good Place Now"; a beautifully hushed and unpretentious gospel tune, which makes the album a step above mediocre and even gratifying enough for a listen or two. But much like Cat Power's Jukebox, Thing of The Past takes it's name too literally, coming off as a dispensable relic from the past, and consequently extinguishing a little bit of the inventive and mystical nature that keeps a voice fresh and distinctive even in orthodox territory. Read more...

Dodos - Visiter (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

Animal Collective are quickly becoming one of the most influential and important bands of our decade. The decade isn't even over and already bands like The Ruby Suns, El Guincho and now The Dodos are shamelessly parading their love of the tribally rhythmic, psychedelic/freak-folk-pop innovators. Still, it's nice that we haven't reached that stage in the style where the bands and albums begin to get watered down, predictable, and more focused on paying their respects than actually adding something new. So far, each addition to the style that Animal Collective have fathered has introduced a welcome variation on it. In The Dodos' case, they've done away with the alienation that makes Panda Bear and Avey Tare such cult-favorites and capitalized on a stronger embrace of immediacy, whether stripping tracks down to pleasing jingles and throwing in heart-warming vocals that recall Ben Gibbard or embracing psychotic hollers and vicious slide guitars reminiscent of Jimmy Page. The songs on their debut build and reform and have the track lengths to prove it (6-7 minutes usually), but they either do so in a flurry of accessible progressions and harmonies or in an exciting and invigorating punk fury. Arguably, the latter mode gives birth to the album's strongest moments, with shifting epics like "Paint The Rust", "Jodi" and especially the second half of "Joe's Waltz", which is absolutely perfect: a demented folk-rodeo hoedown enhanced with manic cries, exhilerating breakdowns and discordance bursting at the seams. But the former mode is just as necessary in establishing the album's overall flow, with tender and relaxing fragments such as "Eyelids" and "Undeclared", the marvelous wistfulness of "Red and Purple" and "Winter" and the soothing waterfall lullaby, "Ashley" all contributing to the push-pull element that makes the overall experience of listening to Visiter so satisfying.

Although stretching a little too long at nearly an hour, there are very few albums as unfalteringly enjoyable as Visiter. It's a warm, lovable and endlessly repeatable collection of carefree tracks that achieves the timeless sound of two friends having fun, an aesthetic that hasn't been done this substantially since Sung Tongs. Read more...

M83 - Saturdays = Youth (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

I didn't live through the 1980's, and until now, I didn't regret it. Despite uncovering many strong points and varying styles (The Cure, Tom Waits and various underground punk for example), I still consider the majority of the 80's one of the weakest decades of music for the past 60 years. But from the moment I heard the opening kaleidoscopic chords and swirling radiance of M83's new lead single, "Graveyard Girl", I felt an uncontrollable nostalgia for that time. The bulk of Saturdays = Youth is no different. It inspires a giddy and uncontrollable glee for the oft-misunderstood era, celebrating The Breakfast Club, big hair styles and unashamed abuse of synths. But the reason why this succeeds as much more than a dated period piece is because M83 is still an Electronica project at heart. All sorts of production quirks and brief spoken word sections make Saturdays = Youth much more than a simple tribute to an era. It's a reinterpertation, integrated with the contemplative and paranoid-driven insight of the 2000's; kind of like an album version of Donnie Darko, except celebrating the things we might've missed from the decade, rather than causticly satirizing it. Piano-led tracks like "Too Late" and "You, Appearing" do away with the cheesiness that tended to ruin so many songs from the 80's and heightens the genuine sentimentality with walls of rich, dramatic sound. "Highway of Endless Dreams" builds and expands like a modern techno song and instills the generation with a grandeurous driving force. The extended bridges and soaring hooks on tracks like "Kim & Jessie" and "We Own The Sky" overflow with the romantic innocence and bright-eyed curiosity that was so common among youth of the 80's. And closer, "Midnight Souls Still Remain" is nearly 12 minutes of thoughtful and uplifting Ambiance, seeming to bookend the collection with one last triumphant defense for the daydreaming demeanor lost to the hard-hitting 90's. Admittedly, M83 has had a hard time throwing off the shackles of living in My Bloody Valentine's shadow and because of the reverb and shrieking distortion effects in Saturdays = Youth, the similarities probably won't stop being noted. But M83's third album is so refreshing that it lessens the implications of inferiority in that comparison. By making the connections between the 80's and Loveless more apparent, Saturdays = Youth defends its credibility, while mastering a joyous middle-point sound of its own. Read more...

Xiu Xiu - Women As Lovers (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

There's something to be said for an artist like Jamie Stewart, who, with his twisted Ian Curtis-meets-Conor Oberst constitution, has so boldly extracted the essence of manic depression for 5 albums of cacophony and disturbing avant-pop, without ever bothering to make it more accessible for his listeners. But the reason Women As Lovers succeeds more than any other Xiu Xiu album, is because of it's willingness to open up. Whereas their last two albums focused on distancing it's emotions from the listener through avant touches, Women As Lovers delivers upon the approachable form that the seamlessly consolidated Fabulous Muscles promised. Don't get me wrong, the content itself is still roughly disturbing - just look at the album artwork, which appears to be a naked child-form roughly bound by rope and tourniquet wire. And then there's the heart breaking center of the album, "Black Keyboard" and "Master of the Bump" - two of Stewart's signature acoustic treks into his dark and troubled psyche, enhanced by weary and unflinching lines like "why would mother say such things, why add tongue to her kiss goodnight" and "a child is nothing without hate". But for music that's so blatantly driven by intensity and trauma, the band sounds they're having a ton of fun. The "doo doo doo" yelps in the background of lead single, "I Do What I Want When I Want" make what's already a shambling recording feel even more like a children's recess project. "No Friend Oh!", the album's most immediately catchy song, sounds positively triumphant with the chorus' blaring horn section. And even though you'd expect the end result of Jamie Stewart handling any song with intentions as melodramatic as Queen's "Under Pressure" to be a total depress-fest, what's amazing is how loosely the band plays with it, delightfully reassembling it with a revitalized madhouse arrangement that puts to shame the more predictable versions that have popped up lately (My Chemical Romance and The Used, I'm looking at you). Jamie Stewart's barely controllable melodramatic shouts, Caralee McElroy's gentle whispers and Michael Gira's powerful sing-speaking all take turns, powered by free-jazz dissonance, and a wall of pretty guitars.

What Women As Lovers ultimately does for Xiu Xiu is shed the off-the-walls variety of all their other albums in exchange for a single, tangible, down-to-earth face. Throughout the album there's a consistent sound: a steadily tense, post-punk influenced, rhythmic section, rollicking bass and startlingly violent percussion clashing savagely with Stewart's unstable whimpers, random electro-noise and acoustic meanderings. This new found focus, looseness and attention to jamming (no matter how off-key it may be) all add up to make Xiu Xiu finally sound like a coherent and widely listenable band, rather than a left-of-field recording project. For that, it's undoubtedly one of their best albums to date. Read more...

The Ruby Suns - Sea Lion (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

While the shifting swirl of voices in the first half of "Morning Sun" or the hissing, half-asleep swayer, "Blue Penguin" suggests more lo-fi origins, this exterior conceals the hi-fi mentality abound in Sea Lion. "There Are Birds", for example, sets itself up to be a simple buzzing pop tune, but then makes a right turn into a multi-layered funhouse carnival section. The percussion that opens "Tane Mahuta" sounds like it's all silverware and tin cans, but then the song reveals a musical sophistication that would make Brian Wilson blush, it's main melody becoming supplemented by all manners of Pacific Islander, African, and Hawaiin originated instruments. And "Kenya Dig It?" is the kind of Pet Sounds-worthy flawless creation that you'd expect to only be attempted in a high-end studio; it's structure brilliantly ebbs from a downpour of phaser mist draping a heavenly harmony into an elaborate shifting of styles and back to the beginning, before side-stepping into a gorgeous shoegazer outro. As a matter of fact, the weakest parts of the album are sections that become too fractured or bogged down in lo-fi textures (particularly on tracks like the Microphones-esque "It's Mwangi In Front Of Me" or the lifeless "Ole Rinka"). Try as they might to jump on the rugged, garage pop bandwagon, The Ruby Suns work best when they sound exactly how everyone would expect a New Zealand band to sound like: as if they've risen out of an underwater city with Sebastian and the entire Atlantica orchestra behind them. Read more...

Atlas Sound @ Bottom of The Hill, San Francisco, CA, 03/08/08

For an artist whose last album was an intimate bedroom recording project, Bradford Cox showed an excessive amount of energy on stage. It was of course, immediately apparent, from his swaying and practically incoherent rambling, that this was due to the alcohol he had consumed prior and continued to consume (and spill) throughout the show. According to the bassist, it was only one drink. If that's true, it's confounding that such a tall person could be such a lightweight because he was so drunk that the show must've gone on almost 2 hours longer than it should have, to fit in all of his in-between song ranting, crowd interaction, and aimless jamming. And even after the show was over, he stayed on stage, sat on a monitor and just continued to talk to the crowd about music, modern art and people he had met that night. Failed attempts at covers followed (although one effort was successful: Velvet Underground's "I'll Be Your Mirror") and after ten minutes of requests, Bradford finally dragged himself off stage.

As infinitely entertaining as it was to witness Bradford Cox spiral into unpredictable silliness (especially to his core fans who, eventually began to encourage him with conversation), it's a shame that his antics had to kill the atmosphere of the excellent songs, because when he did stick to the set, what went down was a force to be reckoned with. Composed of members from openers, Valet, and the impressive ambient sound manipulator, White Rainbow, Bradford's backing group tackled all of the more structured and full-band oriented songs from Let The Blind Lead... with impressive vitality and concentration. The sound mixing was perfect, and was able to fit all the electronic noodling and noisy guitar texturing on stage into a listenable form (Bottom Of The Hill has always, in my opinion, contained one of the best and clearest sound systems in the entire city). But the overall feeling of the show can best be characterized by it's last 5 minutes. The set ended in a total stage breakdown, each of the five musicians on-stage escaping their otherwise consistent pensive raptness to completely consume the audience with an off-the-rails performance of fierce noise making and impassioned form. It was truly captivating...up until the moment Bradford Cox clumsily dropped a mic on his friend/bassist's face, giving her a fat lip. Here's hoping their other shows on the tour stay a little more focused.

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Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes (2008)

4.0 ★/8.0 - 8.9

A band that my parents and I can both enjoy comes around about once every other blue moon. My record shelf and their collection of washed up southern traditionalists have virtually not a single overlap, and whenever they threaten to cover the same ground, I tend to find myself disowning the artist in question. This explains my resistance to giving anything from the "alternative-country" movement a chance. I know there are elements of those artists that could ease me into the style, and I'm arguably already on it's outskirts, with Wilco and Calexico. But I'd rather not have to go through the devastation of having to bury my passion for a piece of music because it conflicts with my subconscious conditioning to be disgusted by anything that my parents can view as wholesome all-American entertainment, to go with their Grammy Awards and American Idol. Still, I've given into Fleet Foxes and feel very much torn. Something tells me that in the end, I'm gonna have to work extra hard to keep this a secret from my parents, because I simply can't stop listening to it and don't think I'd be able to if I tried. The splendidly gorgeous "Meadowlark", at the very least, is infinitely replay-able; the kind of song that, after hearing once, I couldn't stand not hearing at least once a day every day for the rest of my life. No matter how much I stare apathetically at their shudder inducing favorite artists (Crosby, Stills & Nash for example) and how much they embrace genres that I've never been too fond of, from gospel to southern rock, I can't ignore that Fleet Foxes have instilled these influences with enough originality and inventiveness to have delivered yet another nomination for this year's best debut album.

Like recent psych-folk misfits, Grizzly Bear, the key to Fleet Foxes' success is the way their organically flowing arrangements so masterfully maintain a balance between American backwoods influence and blue-eyed Psychadellia. Right from the start, album opener, "Red Squirrel" couldn't be more blatant about it's American grass roots intentions, yet the connected "Sun Rises" eventually reforms it's banjo-toting harmonies into a flurry of mind bending riffs. Check out the way the otherwise typical adult-alternative anthem, "Quiet Woods" bursts into an organ-led circus square dance for it's interludes. Or marvel at how effortlessly "He Doesn't Know Why" veers between a "my dear clementine"-esque ditty and a dramatic beach boys style build up. The best way to explain how good Fleet Foxes is, however, is to simply look at the way it's convinced me to open up. I saw O Brother Where Art Thou earlier today and for once, the Soggy Bottom Boys song that the film revolves around got my toe tapping. The other day I stole a listen to a Fleetwood Mac album from my mom's collection. And who knows, I may even let her listen to Fleet Foxes. After all, good music should make you want to share it, despite generational or cultural differences. Read more...

Built To Spill & Meat Puppets @ The Fillmore, San Francisco, CA, 02/25/08

At first glance, the godfathers of 80's underground cow-punk and the godfathers of 90's indie guitar rock don't have much in common, besides their title. The relatively unknown opener from Seattle, Helvetia, worked to bridge the gap between the two bands with a sound that fused the best of both styles: Anthemic songwriting, J. Mascis-esque vocals, Sonic Youth style noise solos, and a penchant for jamming out. But even their fairly impressive attempt (which encouraged me to check out their myspace, something that I encourage any Dinosaur Jr fan to do as well) couldn't make the two bands' performances feel any closer to one another.

Meat Puppets took the stage and exhibited an energy and excitement that you wouldn't expect from a bunch of gray haired middle aged men going on their 28'th year as a band together. The Bassist in particular, Cris Kirkwood, overflowed with enough glee and playfulness to fill a giddy schoolgirl at her first high school dance. However, their age revealed itself in the extremely dull moments that they decided to play any of their recent work. Thankfully, the extended jam sessions that tied each song together made up for such mistakes, and fan-favorites like "Up On The Sun" and "Plateau" were instilled with enough improvisation and twists to feel completely new.

Sadly, Built To Spill was in direct contrast with Meat Puppets' enthusiasm (which surprised me, since the first time I witnessed them, on the You In Reverse tour, they were spectacular). Their stage presence was just what you would expect from one of the spokes-bands of the slacker generation. Whether staring solemnly at their shoes or pensively fixated on their guitars, they barely changed their facial expressions and stage positions for the entire show. Other bands may have been able to put up a show without much movement, but Built To Spill's best songs vary between ecstatic joy and soaring chaos, so by all rights, their physical manifestation should be appropriate. Instead, I got the impression that they were going through the motions, completely unmoved by their own stellar compositions. But the even bigger issue was the poor sound-mixing, which effectively eliminated the best parts of each song (dense layers of supplementary riffs, slide guitars, and Doug's wonderfully whiny voice) in favor of the rhythm guitar's overloud chunky monster riffage. Still, unmoved by their most recent work, it was nice to see that they hadn't abandoned their classic albums, crafting a set that took all the best tracks from their trio of greatness (There's Nothing Wrong With Love, Perfect From Now On and Keep It Like A Secret).

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Atlas Sound - Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel (2008)

4.5 ★/9.0 - 9.9

Anyone who finds themselves indifferent to this album and only liking the obligatory single "River Cards" (Or, more justifiably, the excellent "Bite Marks", which sounds like Aphex Twins doing Weezer's "Only In Dreams"), may want to reconsider their approach. Bradford Cox's solo experiment should not be taken in anywhere near the same vein as his other band, Deerhunter. Ultimately, that band is about pop-rock. Atlas Sound may be under the guise of a dreamier version of the same thing, but these songs are above and beyond such restricting structures. Instead, Cox crafts a full-blooded ambient album, layering his walls of sound to create a 50 minute transportation to another world that is weightless, transcendent, and above all, gorgeous.

Like most ambient music, enjoyment develops out of repeated listens. Only then do otherwise bland songs reveal the subtle elements that make them interesting and engaging. "On Guard" would be a bore if not for the way hand claps, disembodied voices and a keyboard scale enhance it so effectively. The laser beam phasers of "Scraping Past" begin to fufill as a guitar solo would. The Blade Runner-esque synth pads of "Winter Vacation" add a heavenly quality to an otherwise simple drum machine. The slowly mounting white noise on "Recent Bedroom" make a fascinating tension between beauty and abrasiveness. But the best parts are instrumental tracks like "Ready Set Glow", "After Class" and the title track, which become otherworldly in their simplicity, matching the dreamy aura of similar minded experimentalists (Brian Eno, Panda Bear). It's individual highlights are so good that they almost overshadow the fact that Let The Blind Lead... achieves a certain coherence that very few singer-songwriters seem capable of. It begins with a ghost story, and the rest of the album follows suit, settling into a spectral groove of relentless supernaturalism and beauty. This kind of intimacy and ethereal pulse gets attempted all the time, but not enough of those attempts really get down the single-minded perfection that My Bloody Valentine's masterpiece, Loveless, so stunningly exhibited 17 years ago. This is perhaps the closest anyone will ever get. Read more...