Superfluous guitar solos and shoddy production are things that any attentive music fans despises. As fans, we tend to magnify our roles in the whole listening experience to make it seem as if the artist owes us something. As a result, we become more aware and selective in regard to our qualitative standards. Studio albums are obtained for free nowadays with a single click, so this feeling of entitlement usually arises most during live performances. The New Paltz-based group Oryan is one of upstate New York’s most renowned recent acts for their understanding of this ideology. They recognize groups that opt for unnecessary ten-minute keyboard solos or instill production that sounds like “a soundtrack for a torture victim” as projects that take advantage of their attention-demanding status. A focus on the natural and raw seem to appeal to Oryan, but not because they have little resources or motivation. Instead, they view live performances at the most natural, spontaneous, and engaging outlet for listening to music. This also ends up attributing vastly to their sound.

Composed of three Ryans and one Adam, Oryan show some tremendous work on their debut EP, The Ride. Folk, country, and alternative are the main forces at play, with no specific one dominating; all remain consistently in the picture. Vocalist Ryan Megan has a gravelly howl that is one-part Craig Finn and other-part Elvis Costello, shown beautifully in the climactic self-titled track. A country twang is present in the guitars while a slowly evolving rhythm section invokes periodical alternative-rock, led by empowering vocals that could fit in either genre. How the piano, guitars, and rhythm section all eventually coincide toward the latter end of the track shows this four-piece’s strength in its best form. Megan croons his way to emotional heights, leaving no room for the type of filler that studio albums are often so guilty of. Unlike the ten-minute keyboard solos they hate with extraneous spite, this moment is entirely necessary and additive to the track’s flow and feel.

“Manuals” is particularly interesting for its brooding, string-tinged tone of halted and commenced emotive eruptions. Megan alternates from a whisper to a growl as vigorously bustling percussion builds under a coarse guitar tone. The tone established here is clearly of distraught and somber intentions, and how it remains consistent while keeping in mind the original structure and impressive performances makes it truly a remarkable effort. Check out the last two minutes or so when strings, acoustic guitars, and electric guitars combine for one last cry for help. Truly empowering. The same can be said for “Helvetica”, a more repressed effort that features twangy country-folk in a more subdued, loose on the cause of drunkenness sort of ordeal. The flexibility here is again fulfilling though, and it sits quite well between the intense “The Ride” and brooding “Manuals”, especially when it shifts to alt-rock territory during its conclusion. Oryan usually execute introductions that last one or two minutes on each one of their songs, but this again beckons back to their on-stage ideology. They prepare listeners for their works with delicate precision, in most cases being the ushering in of a certain tone or instrumental arrangement. It always works though, and The Ride comes out feeling like a genuinely fresh EP that certainly deserves a listen.

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Oryan – The Ride

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Oryan – Helvetica

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Oryan – Manuals

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The post Oryan’s Belt appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

It is hard enough to stand out in the music industry, both in regard to the attention one receives and how long they are able to endure standing there without recognition. It is both literal and interpretive here, as a feeling of prominence undoubtedly effects one’s willingness to remain in an industry. In regard to the industry of music, it is difficult to name many other occupations that possess more unpredictability than that one. And on that note, forget about how the country or even the region recognizes them. Getting noticed by your locality cannot simply be an assumption. It is a triumph for some bands to be written about on the back page of their local paper, while others find insufficiency in an above-average review from Rolling Stone. Most newcomers, though, will find excitement in any sort of exposure. For that, I feel some sympathy for artists residing from Brooklyn. Sure, Grizzly Bear and TV on the Radio may be the area’s most popular contemporary acts, but that statement’s arguable nature simply shows how ample Brooklyn is with great acts; it is the rare instance of a local scene being both agreeably quantitative and qualitative. But it begs the questions, could a local scene ever be overpopulated by too many worthwhile acts? After all, we do need to go to work and get the recommended seven hours of sleep.

The obstacles for artists in artistically overcrowded localities are abundant, even if the issues often are prevailed by the privilege of living in an artistic community where inspiration is vastly accessible. In an area like Brooklyn though, I could only imagine the artists being more frustrated with the press’ selection process than the sheer concept of competition. To expose the already-exposed seems to be the norm, with superfluous addition of information (their favorite food, more influences, etc.) apparently compensating for the feeling of something fresh and exciting. For a stable artist intent on just creating music, this can be quite discouraging in the face of innovation. But for an artist like Kordan, who fuses a fresh and polished style of electro-rock with an urban-like rush, these deprived circumstances can be manipulated to his favor. When you have material as great as Kordan does in a place as thriving as Brooklyn, the experienced understand that patience is all one needs to eventually obtain success. Why I think Kordan’s success is imminent certainly has something to do with his music, but perhaps more so in how he reacts to the prospect of fame even if it has not arrived yet. It must be a city thing.

Kordan could modestly note that he’s opened for the likes of Cut Copy before selling any song or release, but the low-key Brooklynite does not approach success that way. He writes on his own blog about the art of others, not how his own project is on the verge of widespread recognition. Usually treading toward the avant-garde, featured artists on the blog like Pedro Vilas-Boas and Tatsuyuki Tanaka embody both the unknown and groundbreaking in the non-musical side of art. On the more audible end, Kordan is practically their equivalent. While working on a contemporary canvas that utilizes high-end electronic production to create shimmering works of memorable pop music, the embodiment of Kordan’s work is too distinctive and layered to be singularly grouped in the vein of electronic-pop. Like the avant-garde artists he adores and features, Kordan interprets and relays music differently than others within a similar realm. These include acts along the lines of Cut Copy and Chromatics, all very respectable electronic acts that infuse similar formulas of instrumentation and production but proceed to make their work individualistic through other, more discreet means.

While some electronic-rock acts utilize samples, stylistic fusions, and other forms of thematic quiltwork to establish cohesiveness, Kordan simplifies this dramatic struggle with precision. His debut EP, Fantasy Nation, contains a mere five tracks but each one possesses a different approach that summarizes Kordan’s intent beautifully. The EP’s self-titled cut is a translucent gem that takes the swift guitar work of Cut Copy and plasters it on the ’80s new-wave-inspired vocal techniques of groups like Cut Copy, who often worked their grandiose choruses using rhythmic prominence and abruptly increased vocal reverb. “Fantasy Nation”, along with several others on the EP, seems to incorporate guitar work that is not there for intricacy or dramatics, but rather as a supplementation of sorts. The rhythm section, powerful vocals, and subtle components of the great production is what truly establishes Kordan as something special. With “Fantasy Nation” serving as an up-beat replica of this decade’s trend in electronic-rock, the following “Tokyo Tears” is eventually more resounding as a somber look back at ’80s post-punk. The brooding bass line seems to pummel through the thick wave of reverb, making Kordan’s vocals nearly inaudible above being a moody whimper. When associated with the chilling guitar work though, it plays off extraordinary as one of the most ardently effective efforts on the EP.

“Slouchy Girl”, Fantasy Nation‘s closing number, is also noteworthy for being completely different than everything else on the release. With its strings, soft acoustics, and background coo’s, it almost sounds like Voxtrot acquired a stronger vocalist and started writing better songs. It is fun and catchy to be sure, and more than assurance that Kordan is vaster than a one-trick-pony. This phenomenal EP could have told you that by itself though. Fantasy Nation is one of the most memorable debut releases of the year, and listening to it shows why Cut Copy demanded Kordan to be their opening act last year after hearing the songs on this EP. Although Brooklyn’s bustle has prevented instantaneous exposure, the imminence of Kordan’s success can be easily heard through tracks like “Fantasy Nation” and “Tokyo Tears”. With artists like these, there is no such thing as an overpopulation of quality artists. As listeners, it should be our duty to sift through them in knowing that their locale provides more inspiration than most.

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Kordan – Fantasy Nation

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Kordan – Slouchy Girl

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Kordan – Tokyo Tears

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One of Kill It Kid’s more noticeable trends is their ability to gracefully develop coarse melodies into sprawling emotional epics, as much in their vocal performances as their fury of instrumentation. Turpin and Steph Ward, a pianist and fellow vocalist, create some of the greatest vocal interplays you are bound to hear this year. The five-piece took their name from Blind Willie McTell, a Piedmont blues legend, and Turpin’s vocals pack a similar sense of rawly invigorated passion that is widely associated with the gritty blues-rock of today that is clearly influenced by the bare styles of blues in the past. Ward complements Turpin’s coarsely powerful vocals well, opting to contrast his vocals with a simultaneously angelic and rapturous croon. In the midst of their most powerful duets, it almost sounds like a clash between good and evil. Both vocalists are damn good here though in a qualitative sense though, as if the highly impressive mixture of strings, guitars, and furious percussion was not enough. The group’s blues leanings may lead some to assume they are from the States, but like Bruce Peninsula they show that blues does not have influence strictly on American artists. Kill It Kid hail from the UK, the members growing up around the areas of Bristol and Bath and meeting at the latter’s Bath Spa University. With influences both foreign and native, they have released an album that should amass them a large fanbase with an expansive array of excellent songs that showcase their musicianship, songwriting, and ingenuity in masterful form.

Now that Kill It Kid are signed to one of the UK’s most consistent labels in One Little Indian, success seems imminent. They released their debut single, “Send Me an Angel Down”, in May and have been generating hype ever since. Sporting a graceful arrangement of strings by the talented Richard Jones, “Send Me an Angel Down” was a pretty interesting choice for a single when one considers its depth and structural ingenuity for a debut single. But this is the stuff I love to see out of a young band, taking a risk and choosing to showcase the best representation of their songwriting over one that is potentially the most radio-friendly. This marvelous track grows from a sullen Turpin croon and a soft string accompaniment into one roaring with guitars and percussion, erupting shortly after Ward makes her subtle but important vocal appearance. How the strings gradually go from leading fiddle to collaborating with the guitars and rhythm section is a marvel to witness, as is how both the vocal deliveries of Turpin and Ward tend to variate as the track progresses with youthful glee. It shows that this is a band not afraid to take innovative steps in unveiling their most sincere and forbidden emotions. For a debut album, it is something rare and extraordinary.

For a sound so distinctive and fulfilling, Kill It Kid could have easily provided little diversity in their songwriting and still have resulted in an enjoyable album. But for a group with their apparent ambition, these are inaccurate expectations. “Private Idaho” is one of the few moments where Ward stars with her lead vocals, proving herself to be just as effective as Turpin in the right circumstances. She obviously does not fit as well in the bluesier arrangements, but a nice country-folk number like “Private Idaho” or the dance-room country shuffle of “My Lips Won’t Be Kept Clean” show Ward at her best. The latter is an enthusiastic and fun track, which contrasts some of the album’s strongest material. “Burst Its Banks” plays extraordinarily with the contrast between anthemic string ballads and high-powered guitar anthems, often transitioning unexpectedly but in a way that is unconventionally cohesive. The effort works with extreme precision, specifically the key-aided chorus where both Turpin and Ward relay one of the album’s best moments over a series of twinkling keys and brilliant strings. The string solo that proceeds that is also a spectacle, a technique echoed in the equally powerful “Ivy and Oak”. With its consistency and wondrous array of great moments, Kill It Kid is easily one of the most memorable debuts of 2009 for me. Any fans of folk, blues, or Americana should be in bliss with this album; its confidence and vision is extremely rare for a band of Kill It Kid’s youth.

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Kill It Kid – Burst Its Banks

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Kill It Kid – Send Me an Angel Down

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Kill It Kid – Private Idaho

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Artists that write from a retrospective view often do it for good reason. It is a characteristic that can carry into their music, since reflecting upon one’s experiences with a modernistic mindset can provide aid for their struggles in the present. In the case of songwriters, artistic difficulties are encountered rampantly throughout one’s career regardless of their natural ability. Plenty of them have astounding potential, but an emphasized swagger and impatience can cause a disturbance in their artistic development. If an enlarged ego prevents them from reflecting upon past failures in addition to the triumphs then they will never move forward and develop fully as an artist. The name Barzin may sound foreign to most of you at the moment, but their newest release shows an artist that is wholly receptive to tackling past errors and altering them for the better. A mysteriously vague songwriter from Toronto, Barzin H. has been active since his group’s self-titled debut in 2003. He actually began writing material in 1995, but perfectionism did not allow the results to flourish until the following decade. Their debut was generally impressive, showcasing a fascination with minimalism and classical folk that seemed to beautifully complement Barzin’s ethereal vocals. His potential was blatantly evident, but the album seemed to lack the emotional depth that was intended for it. But, with Barzin as a retrospective songwriter, slight deficiencies simply gave him more material to derive his current strengths from.

Like most gifted songwriters with a knack for reflection, Barzin significantly improved upon his debut release by expanding his style of minimalistic folk into an empowering blend of indie-rock, chamber-pop, and country. My Life in Rooms, his 2006 follow-up, was melancholic like the debut. But the improvements were evident; the results were more polished and the songwriting contained clever maneuvering that made the results more unpredictable and, consequently, rewarding in a sense that most sadcore indie-rock acts strive toward. This vein of sadcore indie-rock – occupied by acts like Low, Red House Painters, and American Music Club – rewards a certain amount of emotional unpredictability, as varying ardency translates as a more realistic depiction of tragedy than melodramatics and inaudible weeping. This, along with an implementation of varying styles, allowed My Life in Rooms to flourish as a possible indicator of Barzin’s future. The release showed that he might be one of those rare songwriters, the ones that are too genuine to exploit the common emotions involved in break-ups, deaths, or other tragedies.

Barzin released another EP, Just More Drugs, in 2007 that featured re-done versions of My Life in Rooms tracks like “Just More Drugs” and “Leaving Time, but it proved to only serve as an appetizer for the main course, this year’s Notes to an Absent Lover. While not completely devoid of the somber material on his earlier releases, Barzin’s third full-length manages to inject a bit of optimism in his work to provide a cohesive balance between tear-soaked pillows and chin-up ideologies. The album’s thematic focus is still bleak, as most albums that deal centrally with break-ups are, but Barzin never attempts to exploit the topic with over-production or lyrical gripes. It would be easy to over-produce an album like this, with its wide assortment of strings and vibraphones, but Barzin instead opts for quality over quantity in building each of his songs up until additional instrumentation is beckoned for. Also, unlike the stereotype that surrounds most sadcore music, Barzin is not hesitant to tie in interweaving themes into his work. Notes to an Absent Lover is not all moping, it is an emotional journey where Barzin personally acquaints the listener with his pulsing emotional vibrancy.

“Nobody Told Me” is an apt way to open the album, basically serving as a metaphor for Barzin’s artistic growth from the time of his debut to the release of Notes to an Absent Lover. It begins somberly with nothing more than an acoustic guitar and piano, but its expansion into a full-grown accompaniment of strings, percussion, and electric guitars finds Barzin repeating one key phrase throughout the track, altering his emotional delivery each time out. “Nobody told me forgetting could be so hard,” is what he repeats, solidifying the album’s theme as he says it first in somber fashion before sounding somewhat triumphant over the gradual additions of strings. Melissa McClelland’s backing vocals are also a wonderful addition, giving the listener additional solace in Barzin’s empathetic delivery. Unlike his earlier releases, a track like this shows developmental expansion; Barzin now builds like these with the whole picture in mind, rather than simply one good idea.

“Stayed Too Long in This Place” touches the elegant moods of groups like Cousteau, placing a balmy mixture of pianos and strings as Barzin laments over the blame issued in a break-up, singing “I’m always in love, some days in despair, it’s always the same” over violins, viola, and a double bass. A perfect atmosphere for some bleak thoughts, just as Barzin intended. “Soft Summer Girls” is delicate in its instrumentation like the rest, but provides a reprieve from the typical content as Barzin instead nostalgically reflects upon the positive effects of relationships. And although he sings of times being passed and gone, he acknowledges love as a force that can aid one in life’s hardest battles. “They take me away from the one I used to know,” he sings, perhaps eluding to the outstanding capacity that Notes to an Absent Lover has to comfort those in tragedy and take them away into a realm of acceptance, emotional comfort, and quality music.

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Barzin – Nobody Told Me

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Barzin – Stayed Too Long in This Place

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Barzin – Soft Summer Girls

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Solo albums usually require a substantial amount of self-sufficiency. There is rarely a source of constancy apart from the main artist’s output, and external contributions can be skeptical because they are often for-hire, resulting in a false sense of sincerity that could find the release lacking in chemistry and flow. Many successful solo artists first tried their hand at releasing solo material either during or after their participation in a prominent band, conveniently allowing them to capture the attention of many listeners based on their role in a separate project alone. It hardly matters what their actual contributions were too; even if some bassist in a big rock band contributed little to nothing throughout his band’s run, he could release an embarrassing solo album and still see some respectable sales because of his status in a popular rock band. This sort of thing often causes deserving artists to get overlooked. But, as one must remember, the music industry is just as it reads: an industry. To expect quality material to result in recognition is naive, especially as I have learned throughout the years after covering dozens of outstanding artists that would get little recognition in the later years to come. But, in addition to money and reputation, experience also has a lot to do with obtaining success as a solo artist. So, when an independent songwriter like Rishi Dhir releases an excellent debut album based on his own merits and not his previous band’s status, it makes the release even more impressive.

It was merely six months ago when I covered The High Dials, Dhir’s former band. So, when I received Dhir’s first solo release under the name of Elephant Stone in the mail, I figured it was either a nice coincidence or some clever PR marketing (I would bet on the latter). I say it would be nice if it were a coincidence though because of how much I enjoyed The High Dials’ most recent album, Moon Country. Specifically, I urge you to check out my post of the band here for a sample of “My Heart Is Pinned to Your Heart”, an excellent track that proves indicative of The High Dials’ irresistible vein of indie-rock (think British Sea Power meets The Dears). Anyways, back to Dhir. He left The High Dials in 2006, so he was not with them for Moon Country, but still honed his skills with the band for six years and two albums. While with The High Dials, hes howed that he was a strikingly eclectic performer; Dhir played sitar, bass, and contributed some essential background vocals. With this though, one must keep in mind that The High Dials are a good band with a nice release this year, but they are certainly not a brand name. Therefore, what you hear from Dhir and his new Elephant Stone project is the result of his own merits and not the reputation of his past successes. In fact, perhaps one could say he was in the most ideal of circumstances; he played with a very inclined band that gave him some vital experience but they were not renowned enough to give him a false sense of pride and overbearing expectations, which are aspects that often lead to a solo artist’s demise.

After Dhir left The High Dials in 2006, it did not take long for some of Canada’s most respected indie-rock figures to take notice of his chops. Elephant Stone’s debut, The Seven Seas, was eventually produced by the widely respected Jace Lasek, who apart from heading The Besnard Lakes has produced other Canadian indie-rock heroes like Wolf Parade, Stars, and Islands. But before Dhir and Lasek came together, Dhir underwent a period of vigorous study that allowed him to expand as a musician and songwriter. He primarily focused on honing his Indian classical music chops, appearing with his sitar on releases by the Texas-based The Black Angels and Manchester-based The Earlies. This period of study obviously rubbed off on the outstanding quality of The Seven Seas, particularly in ambitious efforts like the seven-minute “The Straight Line”, where the dominant usage of a sitar paves the way for a eventual dramatic infusion of distorted guitars and a funk-based rhythm section. The track consists of little more than a sitar throughout its first three minutes, but the entry of bass and percussion right before the three-minute mark prepares the listener for a guitar-based eruption of sorts that eventually leads to a fantastic overlapping of electric guitars and sitar. To successfully infuse Indian classical music into modern indie-rock is no small feat, and “The Straight Line” serves as a stellar example of Dhir’s musical ability and his ability to implement ambitious musical ideas into styles whose partnerships are highly unconventional. The five-piece of Elephant Stone, led by Dhir, cleverly call this infusion “hindie-rock”; it is a fun term that may be indicative of the recent rise in infusing foreign musical ideas with conventional pop the past few years.

While “The Straight Line” aligns more with Dhir’s unconventionally successful ideas, that is not to say that the entirety of The Seven Seas is filled with songs that require as much patience as “The Straight Line”. In fact, there are plenty of great pop songs on here that provide for a nice tone on an album with occasional epics like the psychedelically shimmering “Don’t You Know” or the middle-eastern influenced “The Straight Line”. “How Long” is one of them, demonstrating a perfect mixture of psychedelia and alt-rock to express Elephant Stone’s style when they tend to be a bit more conventional. The song actually exceeds in sounding a bit like The Stone Roses, whose influence is echoed in this track’s general tone and perhaps literally in the band’s name (“Elephant Stone” – one of my favorite Stones Roses tracks). Although Dhir’s musical roots are Canadian, he even imitates a similarly British delivery as his reverb-drenched vocals gracefully accompany a thickly reverberating bass line with an eerie guitar progression that evolves from a haunting arpeggio to the concise use of chords. “I know that the sun lies eastward, I know where my heart belongs,” he sings during the excellent chorus. “Back home where my love lays waiting, back home where we are one.”

What “How Long” lyrically depicts is rather conventional – a man starved for his love across long distances – but the musical content and structural build-up here is what makes the running emotions so sincere and effective. After the chorus, when “day dawns” and Dhir laments that he is still not near his beloved, the reoccurring chorus several instances later sounds even more effective with its dreamy, retrospective approach. The guitar flows more capriciously with an echoing of Dhir’s vocal melody, but the lack of emphasis on additional instrumentation during this point stresses importance on the ardent vocals that give this track additional life. Overall, it is a fantastic effort that should remind listeners of the music scene in the UK during the late ‘80s with its emphasis on psychedelia and post-rock. With its soaring synth pads and crisp guitars, the equally pop-minded “I Am Blinded” achieves success more directly by a different contrast. The verses here are led by little more than the rhythm section, but the chorus is magnified considerably with the string-like synths colliding with stagnant guitars to create something that is highly anthemic. It is a word that I have used often to describe Elephant Stone’s impressive debut, but crafting anthemic indie-rock seems to be Dhir’s forte. With his added ambition on tracks like “The Straight Line”, it makes for an album with plenty of memorable moments.

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Elephant Stone – How Long

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Elephant Stone – I Am Blind

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Elephant Stone – The Straight Line

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The post Send Me Home Like an Elephant Stone appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

To successfully imitate a foreign musical tradition, there must be a regard for both the cultural relevance and stylistic composition of the music. I am not referring to subtle hints of African percussion in dance-pop or the forced use of a sitar or balophone, but rather a cumulative creation of the music’s role in the country it originated from. Discovering this cultural importance is often something that only natives can relate to, as one cannot simply learn the tribulations of growing up in a certain country from a dramatized textbook. For an artist to truly grasp their foreign influences, they must look further than the instrumentation used and the accustomed time signature. And to truly become a part of a different culture, one of the biggest barriers to overcome is linguistically based. Communication is essential to separate one’s self from the position of a tourist, as the knowledge and friendships acquired from the common bond of language results in a new perception that relies more on human interaction than placid observations. To implement foreign ideas into compositions whose audience is primarily domestic is a risky venture, but it is hard to find a great songwriter that is not a risk-taker.

When Paul Simon released “Mother and Child Reunion” in 1972, it was one of the first attempts by a white musician to imitate reggae. The song appeared on his first solo album, prompting an ardent reaction due to the accessible folk-pop that Simon & Garfunkel popularized throughout the ‘60s. As his first and later releases would prove though, it was the first move of action in a solo career undoubtedly inspired by a variety of foreign musical ideas. The song did very well on the charts, with the fantastic result overlooking the fact that Simon had actually recorded the song in Jamaica. This hands-on approach was something that was echoed throughout his career, both in his infatuation with mbaqanga and folk. The Beatles had imitated reggae more subtly with “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” in 1968, and their relationship with middle-eastern music is no secret (nor was George Harrison’s documented visits to the middle-east). What Simon and those four lads from Liverpool indicate is the proper treatment of infusing foreign ideas into popular American music, allowing their works to serve as a potential influence for contemporary artists that seek to expand their musical horizons into something new, exciting, and rarely heard in their own country. They traveled to destinations where the style originated or was popular, worked with the leading artists in those fields (Jimmy Cliff, Ravi Shankar), and used these experiences to ease the western public into musical styles that may not have originated from their own countries.

Artists like Paul Simon and The Beatles have influenced hordes of followers to be receptive toward the stylistically unknown, but one may also notice that both of these artists did not attempt significant stylistic infusion until the later part of their careers. Simon did not prominently display his African influences until after nearly a decade with Simon & Garfunkel, while The Beatles’ middle-eastern leanings were not exposed until their seventh album, Revolver. Raw musical experience was essential for the infusion of foreign and domestic ideas, so these artists had to wait until they were entirely comfortable with western music in order to tackle the exotic. To compare Hiroshi Kono to legends like these would be premature, but to show such ambition this early in his career suggests Kono is a name that will be around for quite awhile. Under the name of Mar Project, Kono and producer Roger Fife create material that borders on the serenely beautiful and fervently empowering, implementing familiar pop goodness with an ambitious demeanor that rarely is seen among artists in their 20s. This ambition is rooted in Kono’s fascination with varying languages. Their second album, Mar Project I, featured ten songs in three different languages (English, Italian, and Portuguese) with the accompaniments for each track being stylistically appropriate. Hearing the lush sounds of a classical guitar over accentuated Portuguese proved entirely effective, as did the throwback cabaret with seductive Italian musings. For a sophomore release, it was one that defied the qualms concerning ambition that overtakes many songwriters at this early point in their careers.

Mar Project’s newest album, Stepping Stone, finds Kono successfully capitalizing upon the potential exhibited on Mar Project I. This time around, however, the songs are more straightforwardly in the vein of pop music, though that is not to say that his ambition was sacrificed in the process. Kono’s previous album was more direct in its ambition, but the accessibility of Stepping Stone allows listeners to discover Kono’s quirks and diverse tendencies for themselves. The aid of Roger Fife once again aids to this factor of diversity, as his past production work spans from Fatboy Slim to Antony and the Johnsons. Kono’s style of pop is often accentuated with serene synth pads, soft acoustics, and a rhythm section reminiscent of bossa nova, creating for circumstances that are laid-back but also abundant in hooks and durability. The album’s title track is simple at heart, ushering in little more than a simple acoustic guitar during verses dominated by Kono’s distinctive croon. The transition into the chorus is the real treat though, as Kono advises listeners to “open their eyes” as the warm rush of synth pads encapsulate the faint whispers of acoustic and electric guitars. A beauty of a track for sure. “Beacon” recalls The Auteurs’ Luke Haines with an eerie distinction; Kono sounds exactly like the Brit-pop legend, from the samba-based rhythm section to the lush chorus. His vocals possess the same sort of indiscreet swagger, filled with memorable moments that are primarily guided by the excellent relationship between the guitars, percussion, and subtle synths. The acoustic guitar solo that takes place around 02:12 is an outstanding example of Kono’s foreign distinction, cleverly mixing accessible pop with classical influences that turn the track into an unpredictably enjoyable infusion of pop and slight bossa nova.

With “Beacon” serving the first single, “Run” stands as the other one with a brisk demeanor that exposes some apt swiftness on an album full of down-tempo electronics and acoustics. This one seems to have a theme of ambiguity to it, appropriately accompanied by a melody that would feel right at home in a British spy movie. The synth-laced strings only help the case too, as do Kono’s suave vocals and infectious “doo-doo-doo”-ing during the satisfying chorus. Once again, the Luke Haines comparison is prevalent without borrowing entirely from the style he perfected throughout the ‘90s, though a song like “Again” seems more reminiscent of Beck with its heavily filtered vocals and gritty delivery. Here, Kono allows a fluttering array of twinkling synths to accompany the acoustic guitars, eventually sounding like a cross between ‘90s alternative-rock and shoegaze. Comparisons to diverse musicians like Haines and Beck serve Kono well, as he has exhibited a similar amount of ambition since his first release in 2003. Apart from being Kono’s best album yet, Stepping Stone is an album filled with elegant pop music that justifies Kono’s prevalence of influences from the ‘90s. While it may sit comfortably alongside acts like The Auteurs and Placebo that have already seen their heydays pass, Kono’s restraint and foreign ambition provides ample showings of ingenuity in a genre that could really use it. Stepping Stone is a very enjoyable indication of that.

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Mar Project – Stepping Stone

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Mar Project – Again

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Mar Project – Beacon

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Foreign causes are often distinctive enough to warrant recognition on their own. Food is probably the most common instance of this, with the international food industry comprising for a substantial bulk of food sales in the US. After all, restaurants that are in contrast to burger joints and other casual American delicacies offer more than just food. Atmosphere is just as important, and for exotic eateries it can be the difference in retaining a customer or turning them away. There is the actual product and then the appearance, which can either relate to the appearance of the product or the atmosphere in which the product exists. Such distinctions surprisingly overlap into the music industry as well, with the allure of a foreign product being comparable. Audiences become consumed by how songwriting techniques vary from country to country, how these international musicians present their work, and how prominently their influences are displayed (in addition to who their influences actually are). It is a change of pace, and for that audiences may become more lenient or even ignore them altogether due to their foreign status. After all, culture shock can be intimidating and this relates to numerous areas, including food and music. Although their name suggests otherwise, Foreign Born are simply a bunch of guys from Los Angeles. However, their music implies a more collective fusion of influences that makes their presentation distinctive enough for the title.

While Foreign Born’s style shows accessible shades of indie-rock that would be receptive toward most contemporary fans, the diversity presented on their second album, Person to Person, is more indicative of an eclectic fusion of influences, both domestic and international. British rock is certainly a prominent influence for this talented four-piece, citing the Happy Mondays and Echo & the Bunnymen as stepping stones for their guitar-based sound. This British style of rock is fused with classic American songsmiths like Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, and Harry Nilsson. Their catchy mixture of concisely implemented guitar licks, frantic percussion, and other conventional attributes of art-rock does not exactly coincide with the folksy singer/songwriter musings of Dylan or Nilsson, but their simultaneous ability to combine memorable musical accompaniments and engaging lyrical content is something that combines the broodingly infectious form of British post-punk that dominated the ‘80s and the interpretively heartfelt lyrical content of traditional American folk songwriters. To combine characteristics of two separate genres with differing geographical origins is risky for a young group, but Foreign Born looks to finally prevail with a new album that blends their large assortment of influences beautifully.

To avoid the factor of intimidation that applies to most music with a variety of inspirations, Foreign Born’s new album, Person to Person, has the distinction of treading within a familiar style while exploring new territory in each song. Their first album, On the Wing Now suffered from a lack of cohesion despite some worthwhile standouts, serving as an example of a young band with heaps of potential but a lack of focus. Despite this though, they were proclaimed as one of the most promising groups in the LA area and earned some generally positive reviews. The most prominent aspects of the album included Matt Popieluch’s soaring vocals and Garrett Ray’s outstanding drumming ability. Foreign Born held the distinction of being a group with a capacity for anthemic heart-pumpers, and this is hardly different on Person to Person. If anything, this strength is capitalized upon even more with the expansion of the group’s instrumental repertoire, featuring an assortment of woodwinds, strings, brass, and synths. From the twinkling of synths in “It Grew on You” to the exotic, Lennon-like use of strings in “See Us Home”, there is plenty of eclectic musicianship on Person to Person. This is where the importance of Ray shines more than ever, as he is often the only steady force amongst a flurry of impressive instrumental additions. With an astute ability to turn even the simplest melodies into an intricately empowering force and the overly complex efforts into a more accessible format, Ray is largely responsible for restraining the group’s lofty ambitions to a point where their material is accessible and instantly rewarding.

Staying true to their summery interpretation of indie-pop, “Early Warnings” is a great demonstration of the group’s cumulative melodic capacity and Ray’s largely complementary role in modifying some good songwriting to make it excellent. The lead guitar has the type of twang that one would expect from Little Joy, The Shins, or any other conventionally accessible indie-pop group, but the subtle variations within the track make it a treat that would benefit from a variety of listens. Listeners with a tendency to focus on the percussive elements more than anything (drummers mainly) will likely find themselves impressed at the track’s end, as Ray has a tendency of restraining his percussion when vocals or instrumentation are at full force and knocking out an impressive solo when instrumental minimalism requires it. This results in a plethora of diversity throughout the album, both structurally and stylistically. The feel-good nature of “Early Warnings” benefits heftily from this, as the verse’s lack of frantic percussion complements the unavoidable entry of it in the chorus extraordinarily. “Blood Oranges” also offers an excellent build-up, primarily found in a stunning rhythm section led by Ray and bassist Ariel Rechtshaid. “Anthemic” was a word used often to describe Foreign Born’s debut, and Popieluch’s vocal performance here remains indicative of that as well. On the Wing Now was impressive for a debut album, but Person to Person exceeds it on most fronts in being the summation of Foreign Born’s underrated depth and potential. Merely avoiding the sophomore slump is an achievement in itself, to make an album that trumps an already-impressive debut in several ways is a rare spectacle that is hard to rival.

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Foreign Born – Early Warnings

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Foreign Born – Blood Oranges

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Foreign Born – It Grew on You

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It is always a safe bet to name your band after a great song. The name alone could easily grab the attention of many listeners, as most of us can recite our favorite songs word-for-word and consequently have the title phrase embedded in our minds. Whether the name gets potential fans to listen to one song in disgust or become a diehard fan is irrelevant because it aids in one thing that many musicians desperately seek: exposure. When I saw Caledonia’s envelope in my mailbox, the name instantly reminded me of the great song by The Band, “Caledonia Mission.” It was not one of their more famous tracks, but the song’s brilliant use of both country-folk and bluesy rock ‘n’ roll always made it one of my personal favorites. The verses are filled with tender vocal melodies and a sullen bass line, a stark contrast to the abrupt entry of rollicking keys, guitars, and ardent howls during the chorus. But the track remains cohesive throughout its entirety, a rare showing of eclecticism in an era where stylistic rigidness was overly prevalent. I would imagine that Caledonia are referencing this song in their name (their MySpace dictates the words “Caledonia Mission”), but I have no proof of this. Either way, I was drawn to them by such an odd distinction, resulting in another excellent but overlooked debut album in my library.

By being lured in by such a simple reference, I opened myself up to Caledonia. There was a connection even before listening to them, prompted by a simple ode to a song that I enjoyed while growing up. As a result, I was eager to hear what the five-piece had to say. Would their lyrics touch me emotionally because we share an admiration for the same songs or bands, or would it merely be a desperate bunch of guys looking to capitalize on twentieth century successes? For Caledonia, their debut We Are America is so personal that it almost reaches auto-biographical territory, resulting in material that anyone could enjoy whether they were initially drawn in by the name or not. Although much of the album was written by the Canadian five-piece in a collaborative effort, certain standouts have fascinating backgrounds that make their end results even more invigorating. In doing so, Caledonia touches upon a variety of topics that are often discovered after going through a negative experience. For instance, “Scott’s House” chronicles the journey of personal sovereignty that bassist Zac Crouse contemplated as he attempted to choose between pursuing music full-time or remaining at his desk job. “You can try but you can’t keep me down,” he repeats over a folky atmosphere of lap steel guitars, banjos, and a hazy organ, perhaps indicating his choice of personal sovereignty with his word choice. Analog synth also begins to subtly appear toward the track’s conclusion; they are surprisingly effective and heavily indicative of the group’s generally eclectic leanings.

When you compare a track like “Scott’s House” to the album’s opener, “Restless Year”, it seems as if they both come from different worlds. The music here is brooding and agitated when compared to the casually optimistic country-folk of “Scott’s House”, featuring lashing guitar licks that create a wave of distortion under serenely twinkling keys and Steven Gates’ quivering vocals. The musical difference between the two tracks is prevalent, but once again the thematic focus on contemplation throughout We Are America emerges and Gates and Crouse find themselves in similar states with differing musical accompaniments. Just like “Scott’s House” though, “Restless Year” is a great accomplishment that serves as a thoroughly exciting opener that introduces Caledonia’s infectious array of indie-rock to the listener. “Some years come and they go, and you never know how close you came,” he sings, once again touching upon the feelings of regret, anxiety, and hope that the members portray throughout We Are America. The album’s primary focus is the harmful nature of self-doubt and how it contributes heavily to blame and an utter lack of morale. It is a topic that they explore effectively, nonetheless helped by an impressive musical backdrop that exposes indie-rock in the way it should be: diverse and ardently effective.

Diversity is one thing that Caledonia tout masterfully throughout We Are America. Check out “Too Old”, where keyboardist Ian Bent lends his songwriting chops to the mix. This results in a light ‘70s pop flair to the tracks, backed by the appropriate overlapping vocal harmonies and breezy demeanor. Bent originally had no plain of joining an indie-rock group, as he found success on the classical music circuit. However, after learning of Caledonia’s great potential, he could not resist lending a hand. Like the other four members in Caledonia, his sense of musicianship is wholly impressive but he also has the ability to relay anecdotal matters into wonderfully melodic results. Drummer Steve Reble does this like the rest as well, writing the lyrics for “Friday Night Rock Song” after being inspired by Ah Ha’s “Take on Me”. Reble’s brother had previously collapsed from a viral infection, and while in the hospital Reble had aided him in re-acquiring his voice by singing along to Ah Ha’s ‘80s favorite. While this sounds more in touch with this decade’s sound, a similar component can be found in an anthemic chorus that erupts after a build-up of guitars and keys. The chorus sounds like something The Walkmen would attempt, refined by polished guitar solos and tightly interwoven piano progressions. “Don’t write me off,” he croons during the chorus, summing up the album’s theme quite perfectly. They show that confidence is key to success, and this debut album is perfect indication of that.

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Caledonia – Restless Year

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Caledonia – Scott’s House

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Caledonia – Too Old

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From crocodiles to woodpigeons, I have featured a surprising number of bands that resort to their animalistic side for their namesake. Many of us have, at one point, come across the Discovery Channel to learn something that shocks us about animals. Whether it involves mating rituals or hibernation, there are certain behavioral characteristics in animals that make the human race seem dull in comparison. Perhaps this can explain why so many artists opt for an animalistic connection, one that makes their appearance seem more enigmatic and naturally inclined than the human species. Or perhaps it can be deployed in a symbolic manner, like the recently featured Bowerbirds. Unbeknownst to me before I wrote about them, the male bowerbird holds a colorful object in its beak to attract females during mating season. As it turns out, they do so to compensate for their lack of coloring, adorning their bowers with dead insects and other objects to distinguish themselves from the females. We can all agree that this tidbit is interesting, but how does it relate to an indie-rock band? For Bowerbirds, their style of instrumentation valued quality over quantity; the sparse amount of instruments was compensated for by arrangements brimming with passion, authenticity, and irresistible hooks. The group collected influences and ideas and wore them on their sleeves. Like the bird in their namesake, this distinction attracted an audience and distinguished them from their contemporaries.

For our next animal feature, we turn to a reptile with a reputation of being particularly rowdy. Who could it be kids? If you guessed Alligators, you are correct! Like Bowerbirds, this Seattle-based quintet takes pride in their name, even if the comparison to the scaly reptile is more ambiguous than that of a comparison to a bowerbird. Alligators claim that the animal in their namesake “have a peculiar mystique surrounding their existence”, citing the band’s own small-town upbringing as an example of a band that has risen out of ambiguity to hopefully conquer the nation’s attention span. Since their days in the local music scene of the greater Bremerton area in Washington, the five members in Alligators have been slowly climbing to the top. Longtime friends and collaborators, most of them were professionally trained in music and they all encompass a similar range of musical influences. They all mention Radiohead, the Beach Boys, and the Zombies most prominently, which is quite apt considering their sound borders between melodic experimentation and accessible pop. It is very typical of contemporary indie-rock, but their songwriting and ambitious song structures make their debut album, Piggy and Cups, something to get excited over.

The songs on Piggy and Cups vary in their introductory stages, ranging anywhere from the lush acoustical balladry of “If You Want To” to the rushing guitars of “Original Fear”. Regardless of where these efforts start though, they tend to almost always unfold into something highly excitable and genuinely enthralling. That may lead some to assume that Alligators are simply a continuation of the long line of generic indie-rockers that linger today, but even one listen to a creatively diverse song like “Original Fear” should calm those qualms. Joshua Trembley begins the track with vocals that appear more subdued than usual, only to introduce the listener to a falsetto-like range that coincides with increased intricacy in the guitar progressions and rhythm section. When Trembley proclaims, “When I woke up to the light of day,” the meatiest section of the track occurs, and boy is it good. The flashback to ‘90s alt-rock here is prominent, and the song’s conclusion with roaring guitars and coo-ing backing vocals is even better. Trembley demonstrates such intense emotion throughout this gem, perhaps taking away the spotlight from some great performances and intensely excelling songwriting. Repeated listens will solidify this song’s success though, and other gems on the album will be enjoyed similarly. The flow of Piggy and Cups is something that continues to impress me after a few listens; each song flows into one another more cohesively than most indie-rock groups these days, and for a group as ambitious as Alligators that is certainly an important skill to have.

Although I find too many of the songs on Piggy and Cups to contain too much structural diversity to become radio staples, there is no denying that a patient listener will surely be rewarded by the debut. It is a shame when actual intricacy and focus hinders an artist’s potential for recognition, so Piggy and Cups is yet another remarkable indie-rock debut that may be too diverse for its own commercialized good. The album’s opener and one of the more accessible efforts, “Where Does It Hide”, opens simplistically enough with linear guitar progressions and very ‘90s-like reverbed vocals, paving the way to a one-dimensional chorus that depends on halted guitars and vocal quips. However, both the verse and chorus merely end up serving as an introduction for greater things to come. After about two minutes though, we find the group resorting to electronic pop in a fashion that resembles a more wound-up Maroon 5. We find a bit of ‘70s pop present here, just like in the ending minutes of “Mama, Stop” where various vocal tracks collide to create something serene and expressive in accordance to the backing guitars. It seems that most tracks on Piggy and Cups open up with something accessible in order to prepare listeners for greater things to come, introducing anything from tinges of electro-soul to country-pop after that. After any given track on Piggy and Cups exceeds the two-minute mark, one can expect to hear a flurry of hooks and outstanding performances that provide Alligators with a lasting impression that seems more than suitable for a grand accomplishment in the vein of Piggy and Cups.

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Alligators – Original Fear

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Alligators – If You Want To

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Alligators – Where Does It Hide

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Regardless of where one grows up, the role of music is prevalent enough to embed sentiments of nostalgia into one’s memory of their childhood. Whether it is predominantly exposed as cultural tradition or commercialized exploitation are the variables that depend on one’s location, but music’s cognitive effect is something that is definitive for all. Growing up in an urban, rural, or even isolated location certainly affects one’s lifestyle, but music tends to be universally relatable in that its effects have no bearing on one’s specific location. This is especially true for artists, as we have seen success stories originate from both the open countryside and bustling city streets. The artistically inclined struggle to avoid the allure of art’s impact and presence; they see its participatory effect as being either an escape from reality or a path toward the bright lights of stardom. Artistic fulfillment is derived from one’s reasoning for participating in musical practice, and whether it is to escape grim reality or to become etched in the history books is a motivational basis that tends to vary based on the individual. Pinpointing a specific artist’s true intentions for making music can be highly erroneous though, since there are so many possibilities. But if one pursues music as a gesture of adoration for the art in general, it is an act that has no geographical or cultural boundaries.

The appreciation of an art seems so sincere and instantaneous that the sociological effects appear to be either nonexistent or extremely minimal. There are certainly some implications – like how living in a wealthier area allows for more accessibility to the arts – but one’s level of receptiveness toward art is something that cannot be tampered with, regardless of where one lives. Tamara Nile grew up in a tiny cabin on Galiano Island, a British Columbian island with barely over 1,000 full-time residents. While most contemporary amenities were available to her, it is evident that living on an island has its fair share of artistic disadvantages. There is a good chance that not one decent band would inhabit an island of 1,000 people, if one band even existed at all. The lack of a music scene must have certainly subdued any artistic urges from younger residents, right? Not necessarily. As I mentioned before, I do not believe these sociological factors to have little bearing on one’s interest in art or their motivational ideology for pursuing it. Tamara Nile recently played in front of a very receptive festival audience, with the number of people in the audience being 20x more than the population of her native Galiano Island alone. She serves as evidence that not all artists are influenced by their surroundings. Some are just born to write damn good songs.

Although Nile lived on a small and somewhat isolated island, it would be unethical to not provide credit to her father, a multi-instrumentalist sidewalk entertainer. He travelled throughout North America and Australia mostly, with Nile tagging along ever since the young age of six. His influence on molding her prevalent appreciation for the arts is evident, and this in addition to her natural ability are the factors that make her one of the most impressive folk artists I have featured this year. Nile began trying her own hand at songwriting in her early teens and moved to Vancouver to pursue a music career at the age of 19. Her debut album, At My Table, was released shortly thereafter in 2006 to very positive reviews. Gems like “Trees” and “Get Together” showcased her modernistic take on folk, which combined typical acoustical folk instrumentation with unconventionally flexible rhythm sections, time signatures, and melodic accompaniments in the vein of shrieking electric guitars and howling vocals. It was a style that proved remarkably unique, treating the young songwriter to a plethora of festival appearances and awards. She was voted the “Best New/Emerging Artist” at the Canadian Folk Music Awards, indicative of her interesting take on folk music and its positive effect.

Nile’s newest release, The Cabin Song, is an EP that serves as a preview of her upcoming full-length, set to be released in early 2010. Despite being a short release, the seven songs (two of them being short interludes) on The Cabin Song are all highly impressive in their own right and do a remarkable job of showcasing Nile’s grittier, edgier, and more eclectic style of folk. There are some familiar folk elements, like the electric twang and acoustical accompaniment on “Cabin Song”, but subtleties that involve rhythmic and melodic elements are vital to the appreciation of Nile’s style. “Cabin Song” has a great feel to it with its brisk acoustics, but the throwback “Reverie” does even better with its revolving structure and sporadic percussion. “Reverie, come dance with me,” Nile pleads during the chorus, set afire by the frantic percussion. A concise banjo solo follows, and allows the old-fashioned and modernistic to fuse at least for a slight moment. This is what Nile does so well all throughout The Cabin Song though, so this is not the sole example. “Reverie” touts its heavy dub-bass line over evolving percussion and Nile’s ardent howls, but other tracks like the colorfully engaging “Sunrises” also achieve similar stylistic heights. For someone with Nile’s ability and appreciation for stylistic diversity, it is not surprising that growing up in a small town was not an obstacle in her triumphant path to success.

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T. Nile – Reverie

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T. Nile – Cabin Song

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T. Nile – Sunrises

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