It is hard not to root for Inches in Falling. Apart from the fact that they seem way beyond their years, their presentation as classic-rock fetishists showcases a ferocity that is genuinely reflective of the era. It could be due to the scraggly, unrestrained vocals that somehow maintain melodic consistency despite sounding both frenetic and agitated. Or perhaps it is the blend of rhythm guitar, bass, and percussion that values the classic-rock build-up effect that most indie-rockers compensate for with innovatory production techniques. Inches in Falling differ in that sense, since their production relies on no bells and whistles to present itself. Their songs are riveting on their own, recorded very spontaneously as to capture the band’s live capabilities as well as their songwriting, which benefits from a plethora of guitar solos and percussive throttles as the image of them on stage becomes clearer with each passing song.

The four-piece from South Shore, Massachusetts certainly are aware that radio stations are likely to pass over the opening song on their debut EP. “Not Insane” is six minutes full of classic-rock bliss, serving as the perfect introduction to the quartet’s style. So it is a shame that the classic-rock stations will reject it simply because the band released it in 2010, while the contemporary stations will take one look at the length and throw it away. Readers of this site just care whether it is good or not, so enjoy. The bluesy bass line sounds great over the sputtering of guitar, which fluctuates from quick-paced single notes to echoey chords, the former usually emerging when the vocals are not.

Steve Hottenrott’s vocals are easily comparable to Anton Newcombe, even without the classic-rock revivalism that both groups share, mainly because there is no reluctance to stretch higher pitches or hold a note. The concise, spur-of-the-moment delivery is more abundant than if one was stuck in contemplation, and it adds to the audible spontaneity present within the group. The song is just downright exciting, and if I heard Inches in Falling playing this at a battle of the bands or other local event it would convince me to look further. I doubt their live performances differ much from studio cuts like these, but it remains obvious that the band still maintains the right amount of polish and ingenuity to put out a record worth listening to.

Their music also reminds me of Grinderman, a Nick Cave project that is set to release their second album this year. Of course, the scraggly high-pitched vocals in Inches in Falling are a far cry from Cave’s deep convulsions. His voice immediately demands the essential presence of lyrics with substance, which fortunately align with Cave’s talents as a supreme lyricist. At least at the moment, Inches in Falling’s lyrics are generally irrelevant and forgettable in the grand scheme of things, simply because the vocalist’s presence is more rhythmically and melodically involved. The narrative scheme is usually non-existent, which is just fine when you are able to offer up songs like “Not Insane” or “Straight Forward”, which begins with a Todd Rundgren-like jangle of acoustic and electric guitars. It tackles territory more restrained in the vein of power-pop as opposed to classic-rock, and in turn there is more repetition than usual. It lacks the wonderful ferocity of “Not Insane”, but offers plenty of great ideas in its incorporation of keys, which flow seamlessly into the guitar-led deftness of the final minute or so.

For all the songs by The Rolling Stones, Steely Dan, and The Who that Inches in Falling listen to and show appreciation for, their own originality speaks volumes. Their overall enthusiasm reminds one of a group like Dr. Dog, who lack desperation in the most complementary sense. And with such an emphasis on classic-rock over other more popular (at the moment) revivalist genres like power-pop or post-punk, both their audible ideology and instrumental precision supports an ebullient presence that surpasses most rock-friendly peers. From the looks of their press photo, I would be surprised if they were out of high school. When it comes to genuinely good rock music though, that type of shit could not matter less.

RIYL: The Rolling Stones, Dr. Dog, Steely Dan, The Who, Deerhunter, Brian Jonestown Massacre, Grinderman, The Dandy Warhols, The Warlocks, Spacemen 3, The Black Angels, Darker My Love, Dead Meadow, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Spiritualized, 13th Floor Elevators, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Ride, Wooden Shjips, My Bloody Valentine, The Velvet Underground, Comets on Fire, Galaxie 500

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Inches in Falling – Not Insane

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Inches in Falling – Straight Forward

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Inches in Falling – The Bochen

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by Lauren Keiser

We all know that guy. The one who wakes up still drunk, refuses to spend more than ten dollars for a t-shirt, and reads the works of Hunter S. Thompson like a to-do list. Luke and Mitch Meseke both are probably “that guy” and, fortunately for us, they form the all-elusive Woozy Viper. Without even so much as a bio, their ’60s-inspired rock emits a form of authenticity that makes it feel as if we already know and love them.

At first listen many may draw comparisons to the Black Lips and rightly so, but I think just pairing them alongside their coevals would not be doing Woozy Viper justice. The NYC-based duo have successfully taken the great pop sensibilities of the Mod era and interwoven post-modern nuances to form a refreshing aberration. Tracks like “Dirty Rat” and “King Kong” are reminiscent of The Monks in subversive catchy goodness, yet are original enough to not be imitative. The trademark vocals soar in their range and versatility, drawing comparisons to Brian Jonestown Massacre’s Anton Newcombe ability to shine over lo-fi rawness. This debut album is comparable to a cart spiraling out of control on broken elevated tracks in a rustic mine. Just as you start getting used to a steady vibe of Kinks-inspired throwback rock, Woozy Viper time-warp us back to the days of Jerry Lee Lewis with the song “Woah Baby”. Yet, the very next track swelters Jim Morrison-esque croons. Then the proverbial “lever” is pulled and we are still in that old rustic mine, descending at a mind-whirling velocity from soulful cowboy ballads to spastic ditties that, at times, have the off-kilter whisper-shout stylings that take a surprising nod to such acts as Suicide and The Pixies.

While I was painstakingly cutting out the shoulder pads of a new sweater, I felt comfort in knowing that although some fads need to die a horrible sordid death, there remain some styles that are classic and need to be revisited in order to be preserved. The latter is such the case with this gem of an album, which by the way is free (though you can also support the band by buying it here)! The MC5 would be proud that their spirit of kicking out the jams still lives on through this Kansas duo. Now feel free to download their completely free album here. If you like it, you should be happy to know that their sophomore album, Rock & Roll, is on the way.

RIYL: Brian Jonestown Massacre, The Dandy Warhols, The Kinks, The Monks, The Warlocks, Spacemen 3, The Black Angels, Darker My Love, Dead Meadow, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Spiritualized, 13th Floor Elevators, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Ride, Wooden Shjips The Velvet Underground, Comets on Fire, Galaxie 500, Deerhunter

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Woozy Viper – King Kong

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Woozy Viper – Look Out!

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Woozy Viper – The Switchblade Swing

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by Jay Mattson

Canada has been a venerable bastion of good music for the past decade.  The New Pornographers, Broken Social Scene, Wolf Parade and Death From Above 1979, just to name a few, have all hailed from our neighbor to the north.  Vancouver’s Black Mountain joined the fray with a 2005 self-titled debut that was heavy on classic, stoner-rock machismo.  The album was gritty, catchy and mellow.  They successfully followed up their initial hype with 2008’s In the Future, a heavier, deeper album that experimented with grandiose and spectacle.  And intertwined through all of this, band leader Stephen McBean (along with the other members) made time to pump out albums from their side project, the more psychedelic-leaning act Pink Mountaintops, who released their third album, Outside Love, last year to critical praise.  The Black Mountain Army (a moniker for the various people associated with Black Mountain) has been working consistently since 2004, releasing new material almost every year.  This year brings us the third proper Black Mountain album, Wilderness Heart.

From earlier interviews, McBean stated that this was the first album that was not self-produced by the band and was not recorded in their studio in Vancouver. Wilderness Heart was recorded in Los Angeles, a decidedly different environment from the band’s home. The production comes courtesy of D.Sardy (Nine Inch Nails, LCD Soundsystem) and Randall Dunn (Boris).  Both of these elements are foreign to a band who self-recorded their debut album and most of their sophomore.  But as McBean stated in an interview with Pitchfork a few months back, “…We wanted a bit of a surprise for ourselves, to take a bit of a chance.”  That chance has paid off in big ways. Not only is Wilderness Heart the most cohesive Black Mountain album to date, it is also the most accessible without straying too far from the attitude that has brought McBean and company such critical acclaim in the past.

“The Hair Song” opens the album with the most prolific duet McBean and female vocalist, Amber Webber, have ever produced.  The song’s general upbeat tempo has more of a mid-70s city park-performance vibe than an early 2000s sound.  It’s layered with excellent guitar work, mesmerizing lyrics and an overall fun feeling.  All of this leads perfectly into the more somber “Old Fangs”, which retains the near-same level of musical energy whilst tempering the vocal aspect and raising the instrumental grandeur.  “Radiant Heart” moves into acoustic territory with another excellent duet between McBean and Webber, sounding like it could have been a Zeppelin outtake from their later years.  This track takes a deeper lyrical turn as McBean muses “Heaven’s a place where you’re no longer waiting” and “Roses won’t make her feel better tonight, now look what you’ve done to the sky.”

The second act rips right in with the riff-heavy “Roller Coaster”, a track reminiscent of “Tyrants” from In the Future, as its first 30 seconds swell before the eventual fall into psychedelic meandering. This is prior to Webber’s emergence on lead vocals over McBean, while a a roaring guitar  and Matt Camirand’s infectious bass back up one of the best female vocalists today.  “The Hair Song” seems to have set the bar for the entire album, as McBean and Webber share more vocal time than on any past Black Mountain album, and it works.  It really works.  One of the only tracks that doesn’t seem to sit right with the rest of the album is “Let Spirits Ride”, a fast-paced Sabbath-esque rock anthem that feels a little forced and over-the-top considering Black Mountain’s affinity for undertone and weight over speed and explosiveness. Luckily, the energy is brought down to a less-intensive level with the mellow, swaying “Buried by the Blues” which starts out with a single tambourine jangle that soon becomes a nigh-romantic ballad (with yet another excellent McBean/Webber duet.)

Black Mountain would have been right at home performing at Woodstock (69, not 99) with “The Way to Gone”, a song heavily influenced by late-60s psychedelic instrumentation, complete with lighter acoustic work in the background.  Of course, a ferocious guitar eventually rears its head and brings the whole thing together along with haunting chants scattered throughout.  The album’s namesake, “Wilderness Heart”, might be the one track that is most similar to Black Mountain’s earlier work in its sonic synth work, which supports a raucous, jangling guitar that pushes McBean and Webber’s separate vocal sections forward, hinting at a longing heard more prominently in older songs like “Stormy High” and “Lucy Brown.”  The prolific organ around the 02:57 mark builds up to a classic Black Mountain crescendo that explodes into Webber’s warbling vocal style that fits exceedingly well with the music.

Leading to the end of the album is “The Space of your Mind”, a simple, melancholy jaunt with more pronounced melody than any of the other tracks on the album.  Though a bit on the boring side, it is perfect for those nights after a long day of work when all you want to do is sit down, drink a cold beer, and listen to a relaxing song.  And it acts as a good segway into “Sadie”, the album closer and most chilled-out song yet.  The strength of “Sadie” is its lyrical prowess with lines like “Things became vulgar when we became silent”, which comments on a world affected by those who don’t speak up, and “Please, Sadie, oh won’t you come down, it’s time to go home” possibly hinting at either childish play or a drug-induced state of mind.

Wilderness Heart is excellent.  It is full of everything that makes Black Mountain good: incredibly poignant lyrics and vocals, resoundingly strong instrumentation, and a feeling of passion behind each and every song.  Besides a few hiccups along the way, this album has successfully achieved the high expectations that fans of Black Mountain have come to enjoy, as well as making itself prominent enough to be picked up by an audience who may have never heard a song by this amazing Vancouver act in the past.

9.0/10.0

Wilderness Heart is in stores 9/14 on Jagjaguwar Records.

Black Mountain will be touring this fall with the Black Angels, who recently recorded a cover of “No Satisfaction” from Black Mountain’s debut album.  Check it out below.

RIYL: Pink Mountaintops, Dead Meadow, The Black Angels, Comets on Fire, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Howlin Rain, Dungen, Tame Impala, Brightblack Morning Light, Blue Cheer, The Besnard Lakes, Nebula, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Oneida

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Black Mountain – The Hair Song

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Black Mountain – Old Fangs

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The Black Angels – No Satisfaction (Black Mountain cover)

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The post Black Mountain – Wilderness Heart (2010) appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

by Josh Taylor

Julian Shah-Tayler was born to make music. Putting out an EP every few months and pumping out 50-70 songs a year is no easy feat, unless you show prevalently the aspects of a well-rounded musician. His robust musicianship is responsible for his versatility as an artist. What I noticed after listening to his latest EP, Un Ange Passe, is that Julian is a songwriter who creates for his heart’s content. He strays from songwriting conventions and isn’t afraid to experiment if it amuses his untypical sensibilities.

Julian’s songs distinctly belong to their maker. Un Ange Passe is very personal and all the songs on the EP (with the exception of “Wetter”) were written for a dearly departed friend of Julian’s who tragically passed away. The literal translation of the title “Un Ange Passe” is “an angel is passing”, but is usually used when an awkward silence falls over the room. The EP tells a brief and interesting story about what happened to Christine. Julian tells it well, as the story is endearing and stripped down to the most honest details.

Instead of diving into the story headfirst, the EP begins with “Wetter.”  The songs on the EP are sandwiched by “Wetter” and the remix of “Wetter” by Karl Leiker. This song is definitely the black sheep… uptempo, naughty lyrics and electro influence. The feel of the song is great and could be a radio hit. The second song on Un Ange Passe is “Everything Is You”, serving as a good transition into the rest of the EP, which is more relaxed musically. The song begins with finger-snapping, chimes and some elusive and wandering exotic-sounding instruments. Then iit develops a direction and chooses to take on a New Order/Depeche Mode feel. The nameless exotics remain, lending a curious tone to the song. It’s almost as if they don’t belong, but are still welcomed.

“Communication” resembles the sparse feel of a desert. It’s expansive (at 5 and a half minutes) and filled with many instrumental breaks. The track lulls and winds but I don’t know that it goes anywhere. All I know is that when I listen to it, I start to space out.  If Julian wanted “Communication” to have a daydream-inducing effect, then bravo — well done, because that is exactly what happens.

“Christine” is where the EP starts to come together and the song clearly lays out what exactly happened to his late friend of the same name. Make what you want of the other songs and interpret them as you wish, but here is what happened, Julian seems to say. Musically, “Christine” brings to mind The Smiths “How Soon Is Now?” and has the same pensive inquiry.  One of the most striking and revealing lyrics is “as the kiss of the needle delivers you to the real world” followed by this lyric in the bridge “even if this life could give you all the love you need, I guess you had enough.” The verdict: overdose.

Un Ange Passe occupies a certain estranged darkness, but it is only when the listener gets to “Christine” that I feel they can go back and find its lingering presence in the background of the entire EP. Perhaps that misplaced discomfort is the awkwardness that the album title also refers to. Still, the way the song is handled is half ode, half something else that I can’t quite pin down. For a song written for a close friend the song isn’t particularly sentimental, which is odd to me. However,  I think those feelings find their way into the next song “Lullabies.”

From what I heard, “Lullabies” was written for Julian’s future daughter. But the listener is also led to believe that perhaps the song’s tender message is intended for Christine as well. The lullaby soothes the listener as well as the singer, perhaps reminding him that everything will be fine and there really is nothing to be afraid of during the night, and maybe in death…

Whatever the ultimate purpose of Un Ange Passe is, it can be listened to in many different ways. Julian is adventurous with his artistic choices and presents his subject matter though a twisted lens. This is not to say that his method is perverse, but rather aiming for artistic perfection on his own terms. Some say that’s a nifty idea. I would say it’s better than nifty, or original, or clever. I would say the whole EP is a noble effort. Too many musicians make music to turn a quick buck but lack the vision to make something worthwhile. Others write for their heart’s content, yet lack the talent to make sophisticated music. Julian, however, is the best of both. He is talented and passionate, which shows remarkably.

One last thing I noticed: None of these songs showcase Julian’s piano talents, but word on the street is that his full-length debut does. Entitled Coito Ergo Sum, it is due in the fall. So keep an eye out, or an ear rather.

RIYL: Depeche Mode, Dave Gahan, New Order, Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, Duran Duran, The Cure, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Alphaville, David Wrench, The Human League, Gary Numan, Tears for Fears, Soft Cell, INXS, Talk Talk, A Flock of Seagulls, Naked Eyes, Blancmange

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Julian Shah-Tayler – Everything Is You

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Julian Shah-Tayler – Wetter

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Julian Shah-Tayler – In Your Room (Depeche Mode cover)

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by Jon Chapple

It’s a bizarre state of affairs when a band’s live act actually starts attracting people prepared to pay good money (well, I say good money; it was £14 or something) just to turn up and heckle them. But judging by the crowd present for Anton and co.’s triumphant return to the Capital of The North, this rare and curious honor belongs – rather predictably – to the proudly divisive Brian Jonestown Massacre. Mingled amongst the die-hard BJM veterans (favorite chants: “go on, Joel!”; “Hide and Seek!”) – and curious Newcombe newcomers (a load of noises roughly resembling what they think the words might be) making up the bulk of the audience at the intimate, packed-out University of Manchester’s students’ union gig on Monday – stood pockets of people busying themselves purely with launching glasses and shouting about how much they love The Dandy Warhols, clearly there just hoping to see notoriously explosive frontman Anton Newcombe kick things off.

But it never came. Rising above the taunts of his detractors with nothing more than a couple of dignified “fuck off!”s, Anton deliberately kept a low-profile presence hidden away at the side of the crowded stage, letting mute resident tambourine-banging percussionist and almost-Bez Joel Gion (of “go on, Joel!” fame) take center-stage for the duration, wisely taking the majority of the spotlight away from the elephant in the room and letting the music speak for itself.

And what music it is. With a set-list comprised mainly of tracks from their ridiculously prolific ‘classic’ period of 1996 to 1998 and featuring very little in the way of anything newer, the show was always going to be a crowd-pleaser and was clearly designed as such, but – and maybe I’m just being biased because I was, y’know, there – no-one, both crowd and band alike, was expecting the kind of reaction that their performance ended up eliciting. Strolling onto the stage without a word following a short slot by support act The See See (4/10; the BJM but louder and less tuneful), and launching straight into the distinctive, droning introductory strains of “Super-Sonic”, the roars instantly filled the rafters and must have put the fear of God into those hoping for a “quiet one” (they were about; the kind of idiots that tell you to “take it easy, mate”, in a tone that suggests you’re moshing in a crèche). Everything you wanted to be there was; “Servo”, “Vacuum Boots”, “Oh Lord”, “Anenome”, “Who?”, welcome surprises in “Going to Hell” and “Let Me Stand Next to Your Flower” and – about half way through – “Not if You Were The Last Dandy on Earth”.

Even I didn’t see the sheer madness of “Dandy” coming. Right from the outset it was all I could do to stop myself from tumbling over and being trampled underfoot by a bunch of newly-shirtless lunactics, and I’m six foot three, so I’d hate to think what that oh-so-brilliant anti-poseur anthem did to the more vertically-challenged around me. Well, actually, I do know how one dealt with it; a charming young lady climbed on my friend’s shoulders and, upon dismounting post-song, charmingly announced that he had her “pussy sweat all over” him.

The crowd were lively right from the start, but after “Dandy” it was a whole different kind of lively, and the nine (!) band members on stage clearly thrived from it. Well, not openly of course; they’re rock stars, they don’t smile. Well, not in public at least, but when the crowd spontaneously launched into the age-old chant that is “let’s go fucking mental, let’s go fucking mental, la-la-la-la”, etc., (recently incorporated, notably, into a God-awful new song from the BJM’s latest effort, Who Killed Sgt. Pepper?) drowning out the band and delaying the next song, newly-returned guitarist Matt Hollywood looked like he was trying to suppress a grin so much his face might crack. And with regards to said chant; yes, I know it’s tired and it’s yobbish, but at the time it just felt appropriate. So shoot me.

Almost two and a half hours after rolling onto the stage, the Brian Jonestown juggernaut finally ground to a halt, a bittersweet but welcome relief for those of us bloodied, soaked, losing possessions fast (why on Earth did I think it would be a good idea to wear bracelets?) and awash in a sea of tinnitus. There was no encore, but we didn’t need one; the band had been perfect and the atmosphere even better. And so we left, displaying our massive grins and assortment of bruises to rest of Manchester-like hard-won trophies, and praying that Anton doesn’t accidentally kill himself before they chance to tour again.

RIYL: The Dandy Warhols, The Warlocks, Spacemen 3, The Black Angels, Darker My Love, Dead Meadow, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Spiritualized, 13th Floor Elevators, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Ride, Wooden Shjips, My Bloody Valentine, The Velvet Underground, Comets on Fire, Galaxie 500, Deerhunter

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The Brian Jonestown Massacre – Who?

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The Brian Jonestown Massacre – (David Bowie I Love You) Since I Was Six

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The Brian Jonestown Massacre – Not If You Were the Last Dandy on Earth

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You can view the rest of their 2010 tour dates here.

The post The Brian Jonestown Massacre @ The Academy 3, 05/17/10 appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

by Colleen Seidel

When The Dead Weather released their debut album Horehound last summer, it was hailed as a masterpiece of indulgently badass garage rock ‘n roll. At the time, it was hard to imagine anything better coming from four of the best talents in the biz right now. So when news surfaced late last year that the group – Alison Mosshart of The Kills, Dean Vertita of Queens of the Stone Age, Jack Lawrence of The Raconteurs, and Jack White of The White Stripes – was working on a second record, one had to wonder how far The Dead Weather could take things.

Well, not very far. Unfortunately, the latest release from Jack White & Co. feels like little more than scraps left on the cutting room floor from their first venture.

Sea of Cowards is messier than its big brother and not in a good way. It is no secret that the group itself was born out of one big jam session at White’s studio in early 2009, but Sea of Cowards takes the jam session idea too literally, with many of the tracks lacking a sense of tightness and direction.

Most of the time, the record sounds as if someone accidentally left the reverb on too long, and the heavy-on-the-synthesizer motif threaded throughout the album wears thin quickly. Very quickly. Song intros oscillate between the essence of robotic noises from video games, like in “The Difference Between Us”, and soft hi-hat hits, like those of “Blue Blood Blues” or “Die By the Drop”. Some tracks combine both approaches, creating an aural pastiche of cacophonous mess.

And where Horehound sent White to the rear of the band and allowed Mosshart to shine with her intense, full-bodied vocals, Sea of Cowards sadly takes Mosshart’s gift for granted; it is a major offense if there ever was one, doing little to utilize the singer’s gutsy pipes that gave The Dead Weather’s debut so much edge. In “I Can’t Hear You”, the guitar notes and Mosshart’s vocals match to the point where one can’t tell which is which. The technique is nothing new; it has been done before, perhaps most famously by Led Zeppelin. But whereas Zep’s use of it was progressive, Dead Weather’s employment of the technique is simply headache-inducing.

The album’s lone redemption is its last track, “Old Mary”. It is a quick shot of Jack White’s eccentric genius in an otherwise tempered bath of stale music. Here, he recites a deliciously cold perversion of the classic prayer “Hail Mary”.

Over one long tone and a few percussive knocks, White simply speaks, “Old Mary, full of grease, your heart stops within you. Scary are the fruits of your tomb, and hoarse are the terms of your sentence. Old Mary, sister of mine, mother to the world, carry this burden now until the moment of your last breath.”  Sounding eerily reminiscent of another Jack (Kennedy, that is), White employs spine-chilling realism as he repeats this twisted prayer over staccato piano notes, baby cackles and other macabre sounds that make the song downright creepy.  Too dark to be found on a White Stripes album, but born too late to be found on Horehound, it seems as though Dead Weather’s newest venture exists solely to give this song a place to call home. And while it stings to say so, considering the poor quality of everything else on the record, that may not be such a bad thing.

4.5/10.0

RIYL: The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, Them Crooked Vultures, The Greenhornes, Jack White, The Black Keys, Band of Skulls, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Queens of the Stone Age, Grinderman, The Vines, The Go, PJ Harvey

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The Dead Weather – Old Mary

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The Dead Weather – Die By the Drop

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