I was a bit weary when Bishop Allen began their EP project, where they released an EP once every month for the entirety of 2006. Why rush artistic integrity and spoil the chances of a full-length masterpiece in the process? Many listeners probably had a similar first impression, but when hearing the type of content that the Brooklyn-based duo produced throughout these 12 EPs it began to make sense. They almost resembled lo-fi bedroom recordings with their amiable DIY dedication, their infectious indie-pop being led by an array of crackling guitars and pianos. Although the sporadic stream of releases prevented much press since most music publications would not dare review the same band every month, the concept alone generated plenty of recognition that brought acclaim for both the band’s work ethic and stylistic focus. To keep listeners coming back every month for a release that hardly varied in style was quite an achievement, and in doing this it represented the duo’s cunning songwriting ability. After the finale of this EP project, it was hardly a surprise when Bishop Allen landed a respectable label deal with Dead Oceans (which involves people from Secretly Canadian and Jagjaguwar) because of this new acclaim.

A Brief Smile are another group out of NYC attempting a similar concept, except this time without the major indie backing and promotion that Bishop Allen had. A Brief Smile has already released three EPs this year, one each on the first Friday of May, June, and July. Whereas Bishop Allen had previously established substantial recognition with a full-length debut in Charm School before undertaking this adventurous approach, A Brief Smile are generally unknowns still looking for their breakthrough. An short 7-track debut, R.E.S.T., was released in 2005 before a full-length album, Now We All Have Horns, appeared in 2007, but there remains a vague enigma surrounding this group. Each of their three EPs this year represent varying stylistic approaches, leaving a sense of unpredictability that can only be positive for a group as young as A Brief Smile, who all met while attending NYU. The estimations surrounding their next album cannot be conventionally hypothesized, as bassist John Carnes explains. “These albums are all different from one another sonically but I think if you really listen to the lyrics, you’ll find commonalities – a kind of narrative that goes from creation to destruction to creation.” This kind of stylistic multifariousness that A Brief Smile have shown despite a limited number of release is what makes them so promising for the future.

A Brief Smile’s absence from touring since August can likely be contributed to whispers of a full-length release. The five-piece is now at work on “a dance record” that uses “dark chugging synths” to pave the way for a return to the band’s pop roots, set to be released sometime in 2010. This return to their pop roots is in reference to their earlier material, which is in slight contrast to the tinge of indie-psychedelia displayed on Sunshine State, the most recent of their three EPs this year. “Animal Magnetism” shows off this psyche side quite well in addition to the five-piece’s versatility. “Do you believe in the hope of a magnetic soul?” DL Tashjian sings over impulsive stuttering of keys, assailing guitar riffs, and bursts of tuned-up bass. Tashjian’s vocals are crisp and delightful, adding melodic variations of vibrato similar to that of Jim James, though comparisons to the powerful quiver of Brandon Summers (The Helio Sequence) is more apt due to the shared uses of soaring melodies within a sparkling blend of indie-rock and electronic-rock. A track like this can be accredited to indie-rock with its conventional structure and length, but at times the soaring guitars make it feel like more of a post-rock effort. When all the instruments condense in the last minute over the hectic pattering of percussion and Tashjian’s echoed moans, it feels as if a ten-minute epic had just concluded. I mean this in the best way possible too; it is a song that makes time move slower due to its psychedelic leanings, while hardly abiding by the stereotype that enjoyment is best identified by time passing quickly.

“Bigger Lies” continues to tout its psychedelic influences like “Animal Magnetism” did, promoting its 4:20 length quite nicely. This is an extremely developmental effort, with a bass-keyboard fusion providing a leading melody that is no more than four notes. This unfolds as expected though, and judging how effective A Brief Smile are in exposing . You can just feel the anthemic section of “Bigger Lies” unfolding as the track progresses, the rhythm section hinting at possible bursts of melodic variation. Tashjian’s vocals continue to solidify any lack of variation that may occur during the track’s early goings, providing plenty of dramatic flair before interesting harmonic combinations and rhythmic appliances are utilized to establish “Bigger Lies” as one of the most convincing efforts of A Brief Smile’s career thus far. It should be the first of many monumental successes for this group . I honestly believe that this tracks will go overlooked simply because songs on 3-song EPs from unknowns generally tend to be disregarded. If these were perhaps put towards their eventual full-length then more exposure would have been imminent, but looking at these three EPs it was clear that A Brief Smile did this for their growing fanbase and not for commercialized potential. With A Brief Smile now hard at work in the studio, we have a gem like Sunshine State to tide us over until their dark, synth-savvy follow-up is released in 2010. Download a few of their EPs for free here or there until then; this level of quality is rarely distributed for free so take advantage of it.

RIYL: The Helio Sequence, Dirty on Purpose, The Happy Hollows, My Morning Jacket, Snowden, Annuals, The Main Drag

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A Brief Smile – Bigger Lies

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A Brief Smile – Animal Magnetism

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A Brief Smile – Honeycomb Shrinking

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To say that Lymbyc Systym represent the next large movement might be an overstatement, but their methodology is certainly becoming more prevalent among emerging artists. Almost all of us can remember being enamored with a certain technological breakthrough during our childhood, from color television to smart-phones. Many young artists today can probably remember when Atari or the internet first came out, which are now regarded as a few of the first interactive technological experiences available to the general public. Growing up in the ’80s or ’90s meant having these advancements pushed in your face, whether it was the social functions of arcades or the necessity of computer skills. Interest in technology unsurprisingly peaked as a result during this time among the public, whose younger demographic grew up to be already accustomed to the technological skills that older individuals have difficulty grasping. The musicians naturally hold true to traditional theory and influences, but many also fused their tech-savvy skills into aspiring musicianship to create music that used both today’s latest technology and the influential musicians of yesterday. Lymbyc Systym, among several others, have begun using this to create a successful project by today’s standards.

Brothers Jared and Michael Bell possess the obvious modernistic edge as the founders of Lymbyc Systym, and with that they should know that glitzy production and VSTs are not going to disguise sloppy songwriting (except in the genre of trance perhaps). Luckily for their listeners, the Bell brothers are not going to overburden you with robotic tendencies. Their influences range everywhere from free-jazz to thumping indie-rock, resulting in a glistening combination of powerful musical layers and styles that could probably be classified best as post-rock. Their approach is a tad more futuristic than others in the genre though, owing more to those in the vein in The Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev instead of Mogwai or Mono; the vibe is distinctively futuristic even if electronic forces are only subtly prevalent. Possessing the orchestral beauty of Sigur Rós and versatile prose of a Broken Social Scene in one, Lymbyc Systym successfully tread the dangerous waters of loops being implemented into post-rock. Whether it is percussive horse hoofs, washes of breaking waves, or trickles of a pulsing synth, Lymbyc Systym implement it all beautifully without sacrificing the delicately authentic nature of group-based post-rock.

Lymbyc Systym’s second full-length album, Shutter Release, should open great doors for the Arizona-based brothers, much in the way Lost and Safe did for The Books in 2005. I make this reference because the two duos are currently touring together, in addition to possessing similar styles of music that must make it a treat for audiences interested in sample-supported post-rock. Note the “supported” emphasis, for neither band make an issue of overusing it and abandoning the genre’s ethics. Both groups manipulate the boundaries of post-rock and electronica, producing a mesh of madness that is often incomparable. Lymbyc Systym shows this as well as versatility; the varying tempos on the album are remarkable for its diversity, like the gradual build-up contained after the imploring brass and twinkling of keys in the self-titled effort where it explodes from delicate chamber-music to a full-blown haze of shoegaze and intensifying post-rock. The previous two genres are perfectly represented through keys and rhythm, as guitars are prominent but more in their tonal direction. Their melodic content is irrelevant but done so intentionally to ensure the diversity and authentic entertainment of the track. Listening to this one, among others on the album, a few times or so will reinforce this.

Shutter Release can sound everything from dark and brooding to effervescent and triumphant, though its main point of interest is how these moods are delivered. The swipes of keys over bursts of childish laughter in “Teddy”, the infusion of guitars and keys to create the monstrous driving melody in “Ghost Clock” before reverting into anthemic indie-rock bliss, and the pit-pattering of percussion over unfolding organs and pulsating synth chords… these are just a few of the audibly descriptive examples I can provide after listening to Shutter Release a few times. The songs are so well constructed and maneuvered that the replay value on this one is tremendous, whether you are listening for that single hook or the entire song’s cumulative value. Everything is present in these tracks, as there is so much ambition and exploration that the topic of one’s enjoyment becomes subjective in a sense. There is so much to like here that the only thing listeners have to argue over is the best moment of any track. On an album like Shutter Release with so much to admire though, it would be unjustified to choose just one.

RIYL: The Books, Broken Social Scene, Sigur Rós, This Will Destroy You, The Album Leaf, Do Make Say Think

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Lymbyc Systym – Ghost Clock

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Lymbyc Systym – Shutter Release

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Lymbyc Systym – Teddy

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Stereotypes involving the carefree indulgences of a Californian summer have been circulating since surf-rock originated in the ’60s. Its inception was largely brought on by the development and popularization of the spring reverb, which at the time was said to mimic the sound of waves along one of these sunny beaches. Mickey Deora described surf music nicely by calling it “a syndrome — a cluster of symptoms, no single one of which is necessary or sufficient for the diagnosis.” The main symptoms include a limited instrumental arsenal, prominent use of either reverb or the guitar’s vibrato, and a short song length that appealed to the abundantly used metaphor of catching a wave. Similar to that accomplishment, the conventional surf-rock tracks were short, infectious, and brimming with components like reverb or picked staccatos. This action-audio analogy may sound pretentious by today’s independent standards, but back then it was simply incorporating a popular form of youthful expression into another popular form of youthful expression. Music and surfing were unveiled by these groups to have more in common than one would think.

Before even listening to them, it is readily apparent that Surfer Blood are a bit enamored with the style and period of surf music. Their name alone possesses an obvious reference, while expositions of personality on their MySpace site flash glimpses of ocean-themed tracks, references to fun things like weed and Condoleeza Rice, and a bunch of promo photos that are either in front of the ocean or expressing serene artistic emission. This might sound normal enough if you are from West Palm Beach like Surfer Blood, but many fans of indie-rock may find themselves weary of such beach-bound associations. The differences between contemporary indie-rock and surf-rock are prominent for the most part, and to immediately align Surfer Blood with The Beach Boys or Dick Dale would be a premature impulse that would unfortunately result in missing out on a great band for those not attracted whatsoever to these past groups. Surfer Blood do not abide by Deora’s aforementioned symptoms of surf-rock on a strict basis, but by possessing a similar type of musical ideology to their surf-rock predecessors Surfer Rock have crafted an ingenious debut that reaps from an old-fashioned sort of intensity that only those powerful two-minute surf-rock epics from the ’60s brought to the table.

Although they serve exemplary of an artist influenced by an ideology instead of a precise audible style, Surfer Blood’s own unique style is something that should delight fans of modern indie-rock. The charming upbeat pop of The Shins is certainly present, as are groups like The Explorers Club that cling on to ’60s pop and surf-rock through overlapping vocal harmonies, picked tremolos, and lushly serene orchestration. Surfer Blood are a bit more modernistic than a group like The Explorers Club though, evidenced strongly by the variation in guitar tones and levels of distortion in addition to the lead vocals of John Paul Pitts. Amiable and accessible, Pitts always maintains a gleeful and whimsical croon that simultaneously recalls the sparkle-and-spit of James Mercer and versatility of Brian Wilson by aligning his vocal melodies with corresponding guitars. Like in surf-rock and power-pop alike, guitars are the driving force throughout Surfer Blood’s debut album, Astrocoast. These are precisely the two influences at work most consistently too; surf-rock is abundant through its production techniques while the hooks and song structures themselves are more reflective of power-pop.

Apart from “Slow Jabroni” and “Anchorage”, Astrocoast consists of tracks following below the four-minute mark but still achieving incredible growth and innovation during that time, beckoning a similar feeling to that of instrumental surf-rock when it emerged in the early ’60s. It helps that accessible efforts like “Floating Vibes” takes any related stereotypes by the throat to turn it into a gem with precise revision, even if the track’s simplicity and imminent radio time means it is not as durably enjoyable as the rest of this fantastic album. These aforementioned surf-rock instrumentals are even recalled on Astrocoast to a slight degree, which finds its own reworking on “Neighbor Riffs”. Perhaps it resembles post-punk or art-rock due to its selected melodic and tonal choices, but the structure is inherently that of how surf-rock instrumentals were. An initial bass line kicks off the effort and does not subside for the entire duration, instead serving as the source of opportunity for a multitude of dexterous guitar progressions that benefit from aspects like tremolo, reverb, and staccato that undoubtedly resemble conceptual surf-rock. This is a quite a departure from most of the efforts on Astrocoast, but it sits excellently in the middle of Astrocoast as the bridge between indie-pop-minded sensibilities and voraciously raw surf-rock.

“Twin Peaks” is also nicely demonstrative of this medium, seeing a verse that alternates between aptly implemented chirps of guitar and bursts of distortion before going into an exotic infusion of woodwinds and guitars backed by festival-like ambiance. The fact that Surfer Blood are able to involve both of these conceptual ideas within mere seconds of one another is very impressive and it is easily one of Astrocoast‘s biggest strengths. “Fast Jabroni” recalls the fuzzy dance-punk of the late ’80s with its backing synths and excellent bridge, which uses cleverly engineered snippets of guitar arpeggios and strings to piece together a joyous chorus that exposes Pitts’ vocals in the best light possible. The guitar solo toward the end of the track brings us back to the days of quality ’90s power-pop, before the time Weezer transformed from indie-rock heroes to monetarily desperate cash cows taking advantage of their own status to release pathetic music and manipulate dedicated fans in the process. The prominent synths along with Pitts’ chirpy vocals would have allowed this to site well on Donnie Darko‘s soundtrack, where influences like Echo & the Bunnymen and The Church showcased the precursor to an effort like this in the background of rebellious and misdirected youth. There is a sort of concurrent wisdom and youthfulness found in Surfer Blood’s work and it serves as a rare factor that will undoubtedly separate them from the masses.

Other highlights on Astrocoast include “Harmonix”, easily the best psychedelic-geared effort on the album with its droning guitars and reverbed harmonics (as one would assume by the name), and “Take It Easy”, which brilliantly infuses fiddles and plucked staccatos to introduce an ingeniously calming chorus that summarizes this group’s feel-good vibes in more ways than one. There are so many sheer successes on Astrocoast that it is hard not to chalk it down as one of 2009’s best debuts. Their fusion of surf-rock and indie-rock has been attempted recently by groups like The Drums and Holiday Shores with some degree of success, but Surfer Blood appear to be doing it the best so far.

RIYL: The Drums, The Explorers Club, Holiday Shores, Girls, Fool’s Gold, Little Joy, Weezer, The School

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Surfer Blood – Take It Easy

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Surfer Blood – Harmonix

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Surfer Blood – Fast Jabroni

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Continuing with the recent theme of atmospheric pop music that Washed Out and Neon Indian showed us, Her Vanished Grace deliver a similar sort of layer-based sereneness that differentiates itself through dark and moody Brit-rock instead of chilly electronica or sample-based experimentation. By most accounts, Blue is their tenth release of new material since their debut, State of Grace, was released in 1991 with a promising take on atmospheric pop that revolved around assorted guitars and keyboards. Her Vanished Grace’s actual number of releases is somewhat debated due to their cult-like following, which has manufactured many assorted mixtapes and compilations in itself. If one thing is for certain though, it is the rare capability that this band has to remain interesting as time goes on. As their tenth release Blue shows us, it does not take a precise discography for a listener to witness Her Vanished Grace’s maturation. Their initial career reaped from interesting use of post-rock, noise, and shoegaze, wearing influences like Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine on their sleeves despite noticeably lo-fi production that prevented the New York-based group from reaching widespread recognition. Their work still touts those prestigious influences today, but now they infuse more of their originality in an effort to differentiate themselves. So far, so good.

The most recent incarnation of Her Vanished Grace commenced in 2000 with Colors Vols. 1 & 2, when the founding husband-and-wife duo of Charles and Nance Nieland disbanded the initial workings of Her Vanished Grace and combined forces with bassist Maria Theodosiadou and drummer Brian Haarer to form a more full-bodied version of their initial group. A vigorously talented rhythm section and higher-budget recording methods in addition to the songwriter-guitarist husband-and-wife duo paved way for their most successful period in the early to mid 2000s. Five new albums were released after Colors, the most recent being the excellent Blue. Although their success to date has been gaining momentum for several years now, Blue may be the knockout punch that propels this band from obscurity to unanimous acclaim. Charles and Nance met at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art about two decades ago, and ever since then they have been working together to pursue their dream of musical success. Time is only relative for artists, and many may consider success occurring after attributed experience is better than success prior to experience, for it is a factor that is a monumental factor in determining an artist’s durability.

Durability is synonymous with Her Vanished Grace, at least in the sense that longtime fans have yet to be disappointed with the four-piece. Billy Loose has since replaced Haarer on drums but the original duo along with Theodosiadou are still there along with their ambitions. In terms of stylistic exploration, Blue has little to offer in terms of breakthroughs, but their blending of familiar styles like power-pop and shoegaze into one beautiful audible landscape make up for any lack of stylistic innovation. To enjoy Blue one must push aside any stylistic biases regarding shoegaze, as common stylistic elements like reverb and gushing guitars are abundant but not utilized in a conventional manner. Since the melodies are crisp and polished in the form of modern indie-pop instead, the regressing influence is not exposed in the way one might expect. The excellent self-titled track instead reaps from an infectious blend of power-pop and post-punk, being grounded in production techniques involving heavy doses of reverb, thick tremolos, and heightening guitar arpeggios that clash with a bustling rhythm section to consume the listener through both pop-minded appeal and atmospheric vision. Like predecessors in the vein of Sonic Youth and Ride, Blue marks Her Vanished Grace’s true emerging period as a group putting their ambition to accessible use without sacrificing the ingenuity that got them there in the first place.

Although both Charles and Nance contribute vocal duties on Blue, Charles is primarily used due to the way his brooding vocals accentuate the retrospective and forlorn aroma of post-punk and shoegaze most commonly attributed to Her Vanished Grace. The band employs their differing vocal styles well, allowing each specialty to reap from their eclectic use of instrumentation. For instance, Charles is lead on the empowering “Blue”, where a brilliantly moody chorus provides awe-inspiring embrace in washed layers of guitars and synth pads. Its strength is dependent on darkening mood and evolving versatility, growing from an emotive guitar-driven piece to one guided by distinctive layers of sound that accompany a versatile croon that goes from low-pitched to an ethereal chant of sorts with heightened pitch. Charles’ presence is felt in the album’s darker tracks, leaving room for Nance to take control of more lighthearted efforts like “Rush”. With a better grasp of bubblegum-pop or lighthearted indie-pop in the vein of Metric or Mates of State, “Rush” works by using a bunch of repeating guitar chords before exerting itself into a chorus that reminds me of 90s Brit-rock in the vein of PJ Harvey, Black Box Recorder, or even less absurd Morrissey efforts like “Reader Meets Author” with its swirling sort of guitar-based simplicity. Although it strains itself from too much repetition, it is a nice reliever from Her Vanished Grace’s more emotionally complex efforts like “Blue and “Remember”, as enjoyable as they are.

The latter is narrative in approach as Charles and Nance participate in a duet, again retracing their steps to the amiable type of alt-rock that was abundant throughout the ’90s. With Charles’ vocals at times sounding like a cross between Gruff Rhys, Morrissey, and Hayden Thorpe (Wild Beasts), his versatile approach does wonders to this respective style along with the band’s tendency for anthemic hooks. Nance’s contributions contrast somewhat in terms of style, but the parallel creates very refreshing circumstances that are simply a testament to the group’s valuable chemistry. The diversity between efforts like “Blue” and “Rush” summarize the album’s success quite well, as Blue serves as an enjoyable release that relies on the band’s gathered experience in the spectrums of pop music and layer-based atmospherics. Without the experience of nearly two decades I would be surprised if Blue would have even been possible, but Her Vanished Grace have undoubtedly reached an artistic peak by doing so without sacrificing what got them here in the first place.

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Her Vanished Grace – Blue

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Her Vanished Grace – Slip Away

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Her Vanished Grace – Remember

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It would be nice if all New Yorkers were given next week off for the sake of new music. CMJ’s Music Marathon is already intimidating enough with hundreds of artists on the roster, so with classes and work getting in the way it would be pretty nice to devote a whole week to new music instead. This nutty but alluring proposal aside, many of the groups playing next week are getting their first big break, a treat for audiences to be involved in. As a result, those attending will likely be more receptive to the potential and effort the artist may display or put forth, rather than instantaneous quality. Yesterday’s feature of Tim Williams was exemplary of an artist who put his first taste of CMJ exposure five years earlier to good use. Although he has yet to become a brand name, watching an artist live that you hypothesize to be prominent in a few years provides a unique feeling that is only rivaled by the discovery of a release produced under similarly deprived circumstances. Artistry is one of the few aspects of humanity that permits hunger and desire as beneficial forces and, although we never want well-deserved artists to go by unnoticed, we assume an unspoken role as listeners to spread the word about quality music. This site itself is a representation of that attempt, and comprehensively accessible festivals like CMJ are able to provide the wonderful feeling I get after writing about a band that I am positive will be adored by most that pass by this site.

Another great thing about CMJ is the amount of related e-mails I get for it. Since the majority of these groups are simply looking for exposure, the amount of invitations I receive is a nice source of entertainment for awhile, even if it makes me somewhat weary. Not so much because it is flattering, but instead due to my own time constraints and the many artists that have the potential to be breathtakingly original (if they have not reached that point already). To miss out on one because my inbox is full would be quite unfortunate. I have no clue what to attend during CMJ on the days I actually am available, so going through and listening to the artists beforehand is really the only form of judgment I and others can go by. This is what I do regardless though, so stumbling across a group like Midnight Juggernauts thanks to a CMJ invitation demonstrates how live appearances have both a direct and indirect effect on an artist’s exposure. Even if I were to not attend due to disinterest or personal conflicts, the mere fact they are appearing in the festival led me to their latest release, an EP by the name of This New Technology. Judging by the concise but impressive showing of the EP, perhaps I should clear my schedule for one of their CMJ shows.

Quite simply, Midnight Juggernauts are worth it. The title of their EP is good indication of their advanced stylistic trends, simultaneously emitting a fury of dance-rock in the vein of Cut Copy and hazy ’90s alt-rock reminiscent of early Suede or Manic Street Preachers, when drugs were influencing a sound influenced by both psychedelia and glam. Drug use is hardly advised but in some artistic instances it can serve as a beneficial supplement, shown throughout the recording of Suede’s Dog Man Star or even The Beatles’ transitional stage into works later classified as psychedelia. You can find a similar sort of revised psychedelia in the work of Midnight Juggernauts, even though they remain more sample-friendly and uptempo than many of these predecessors. Their pulsating bass work is more reminiscent of layered synths than anything, but the interesting decision to implement organs, varied guitar work, and a vocal delivery that would fit more aptly in the world of arena-rock make Midnight Juggernaut something of an unconventional success. Their debut, Dystopia, showed their blend of synth-pop and alt-rock for the first time in 2007, serving as one of the few electro-rock debuts that were polished full of confidence. The Tough Alliance and Cut Copy come to mind for this decade, but since the days of Massive Attack and Depeche Mode electronic-rock has dwindled into a more predictable entity that allows considerably more room for error.

Midnight Juggernauts defy such limitations on This New Technology, starting with the gorgeous self-titled cut. “This New Technology” already made a big splash in the blogosphere in late September, but this should do well in tiding you over until the EP’s release in November. A jaw-dropping effort, its integration of bubbly synths into chirps of brass and reverbed guitar licks may sound on paper like another typical indie-rock effort that mocks Cut Copy, but the advances this trio has made here makes for more than that. On Dystopia the group were often criticized for making their song structures too predictable, with verses often relying on vocals and choruses using more melodic forces of instrumentation. “This New Technologhy” rides on similar utilization of bass as the debut, but the interaction between guitars and organs here is what establishes it as a uniquely phenomenal effort. The vocals are also noticeably more empowering than on the debut, and the group’s newly acquired experience with structural alteration truly shows here as it makes the seamless transition between punchy dance-rock and hazy psychedelia. “Fantastic Valleys” is strictly instrumental but goes far in showing the listener even more stylistic growth, as the percussive intricacy and avant-garde keyboard work are new improvements for the trio. I am not quite sure whether it would sound more appropriate for the Goonies soundtrack or a film set in 2500, but those keys sure bring out feelings of both elusiveness and futurism in their unpredictable placement and synthetic tone. Midnight Juggernauts have made obvious improvements that should drive plenty of hype in anticipation for their forthcoming full-length album, set to be released sometime in early 2010. At the very least, they made me and others want to clear their busy schedules for a few CMJ appearances.

RIYL: Cut Copy, Manic Street Preachers, Suede, Giorgio Moroder, Scissor Sisters, Air, The Rapture

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Midnight Juggernauts – This New Technology

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Midnight Juggernauts – Fantastic Valleys

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Midnight Juggernauts – This New Technology (Emperor Machine Remix)

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On the heels of next week’s CMJ festival in NYC, Tim Williams is exemplary of the local favorites you are bound to find there. The Brooklyn-based songwriter caught one of his first breaks at CMJ in 2004, shortly after his debut Tales of Digression, and has been riding the wave ever since. Employing a very formidable style of indie-pop, Williams’ mixture of slick guitar riffs, inventive chorus-based hooks, and ardent vocals with the occasional yelps and grunts should cater to fans of Phoenix, Ben Kweller, Danielson, and Modest Mouse. His sound has a very contemporary feel to it, due in part to the continuous sense of capriciousness that his caressing vocals and versatile guitar work collaborate to produce. As a result, Williams has always been one or two hits away from holding a similar status as these major players. He has always enjoyed little more than local success though due to his past two album’s lack of exposure and focus. Their primary gratification was the demonstration of potential rather than fully embodied talent. The songs on Tales of Digression and its 2007 follow-up, When Work Is Done, sometimes appeared rough around the edges or devoid of focus, but what they did have was an imaginative premise with expertly integrated hooks. Cohesiveness was simply the final ingredient that Williams was missing to formulate his success.

Williams’ third album, Careful Love, continues the artistic maturity that its predecessor, When Work Is Done, showed off so impressively. It is not that Williams is particularly groundbreaking or stylistically inventive; his style of indie-pop should sound familiar to anyone with an ear or two. Instead, it is what he makes of it that is so worthwhile. Listening to snippets of any given track probably will not convince anyone of his artistic merits, but what a full listen of Careful Love exposes is a sensibility that is rare amongst most contemporary pop songwriters. There is a sense of virtuosity here, which in itself is a commodity since the respective genre is one where playing it safe is often advised. Williams does a little bit of both on Careful Love, mixing imminent college-radio favorites like “I Hit Another Wall” and “Oceans” with more avant-garde efforts (at least for the realm of indie-pop) that explore varying tempos, deliveries, and styles ranging from the dab of funk in “Ozone Street” to the electro-industrial influence of the rhythmically inclined “Right All Along”. When these are supplemented every other track or so that instead contain breezy, carefree indie-pop that requires little attentiveness to enjoy, it finds a nice middle ground between overly accessible indie-pop and intimidating avant-garde.

That Careful Love falls into neither category as a cumulative effort is a feat that his previous two albums did not accomplish, though When Work Is Done came close to doing so. Williams wrote this most recent effort after he successfully underwent open-heart surgery in May 2008, wasting no time after getting out of the hospital in writing tracks that packed more sincerity and expansiveness than before. One of the reasons for this expansiveness was the addition of a full band, which make their appearance on Careful Love in fantastic form. Where previous efforts would find Williams strumming his acoustic guitar with little to no accompaniment, the heightened sense of collaboration on Careful Love also attributes to the stylistic ambitiousness that the release portrays. “Stilts” is another nice example of Williams’ inventive indie-rock, utilizing the sounds of a sliding electric guitar and reflective arpeggio as Williams . This particular vocal technique is done throughout the album, with yelps or whoo-hoos making apt appearances on entertaining choruses that also include “Right All Along”, the orchestral dramatics of “I Want to Die in California”, and “Oceans”. The latter is so serene that it almost becomes reminiscent of Coldplay with its melancholic keys or Little Joy with its bright guitar chords. The title implies relaxation and the composition strongly enforces that carefree ideology with a brisk melody and flourishes of tropical bliss.

Another interesting cut on the album includes “I Want to Die in California”, a genuinely touching closer that reminds me of David Vandervelde’s fantastic debut, The Moonstation House Band. In that album he juggled grandiose orchestral-pop with the likes of indie-rock and glam-rock, resulting in something both nostalgic and groundbreaking. This effort is quite similar, finding Williams converting his classically soothing indie-pop croon to one with a western-ish twang. It feels particularly old-fashioned with its natural pianos and strings on an album that is primarily led by guitars and electronic tweaking, but that is also part of its allure. He finds himself singing in the vein of Dennis Wilson, who was able to turn the simplest pop songs into awe-inspiring achievements of emotion with his vocal and songwriting talents. A songwriter like that is perfectly justifiable for comparison, as Careful Love shows an artist who is just beginning to recognize his own emotive skills. Williams’ songs have resulted in an album that will be looked back on as the commencement of Williams’ most prominent growth as a songwriter. When he takes the stage at CMJ this year, audiences that saw him five years earlier will likely drop their jaws at this guy’s improvement. He is still showing heaps of potential, but he has durable quality and consistency to back it up now.

RIYL: Phoenix, Ben Kweller, Danielson, David Vandervelde, Modest Mouse, Dennis Wilson

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Tim Williams – Ozone Street

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Tim Williams – I Want to Die in California

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Tim Williams – Right All Along

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To describe Aficionado as a sudden output of energy would probably the most accurate, as I doubt many bands possess the cumulative energy of this aspiring ten-piece from upstate New York. Ten members who play everything from exotic woodwind instruments to roaring guitars is not a common group composition after all, so when Aficionado takes the stage I can only imagine what goes through the audience’s minds. It would appear to have such a high potential for sloppiness or thematic pretentiousness based on the visual presentation alone. Laura Carrozza, backing vocalist and flute player, stands apart from the rest of her band members, most of them looking like a mixture of truckers and ’70s revivalists with their long bears and sloppy exterior. What resonates from this collective turns out to be to the contrary though, as this group impresses through a series of highly excitable tracks that embody original ideas and delicious hooks without ever treading too long or too intricately.

Taking a cue from punk acts of the early ’90s like At the Drive-In, Aficionado may initially impose whispers of post-hardcore and/or emo that may scare off many listeners accustomed to indie-rock. What I hope is that listeners give Aficionado a chance, as further listening shows that their ambition spreading across several genres makes them more comparable to groups like Slint, The Pixies, and Chavez. These, of course, are all artists that were integral to the development of today’s indie-rock. Aficionado are simply infusing a slight touch of early ’90s punk (though only the good kind). They make it easy for the desperate journalists by calling their special blend “progressive-indie”. Forming in 2004 amongst a group of close friends, Aficionado blended these influences with tight chemistry and emerged with a well-received album, Circus Music, in 2008. Critics noted the release for its enjoyable energy and strong musicianship, even if the songwriting did not correlate with the potential quite yet.

Their new EP, The Myth About Real Life, was produced by Don Fury in Troy, New York, which is about a ten minute drive from their native Albany. The opening, self-titled track is one that possesses the energy of favorites from Circus Music, with an even more expansive approach that results in newly cohesive song structures in alignment with the impressive multi-instrumentation. The initial brass sounds like an intro to a ska track with its thumping progression, only until a saxophone emerges with a seductive whimper to accentuate the jazz influence. The lead vocals of Nick Warchol emit a nasally, whimpery croon that shows a surprising amount of range among the powerfully alternating structures. The group’s ability to sound anthemic is inarguable. Carrozza’s backing vocals apply to this standard on both the self-titled cut and “The Same Original Idea”.

“The Same Original Idea” increases the dramatics with its introduction as Carrozza frequents more solos and verses over the fragile progression of a piano and delicate woodwinds. What sounds like a potential ballad eventually turns into the same balls-out, rock-filled atmosphere of “The Myth About Real Life”’s heightened moments, only this time with more unpredictable guitar-based transitions that resemble the progressive-rock of Yes, King Crimson, and other prog-rock forefathers. “It was a million and one of the same goddamn thing,” Warchol gripes. The intensity is raw and pure, only eclipsed by the powerful instrumentation and angelic interruptions from Carrozza. “I Don’t Believe We Met” continues in this fusion of post-hardcore, indie-rock, and progressive-rock, showing some epic ambitiousness in the use of keyboards and guitars similar to “The Same Original Ideas”. And although some ideas on the songs tend to repeat themselves in use, the varying approaches make it impressive enough to enjoy with ease. Catchiness and musical chops may eclipse groundbreaking stylistic integration for Aficionado, but with the chops of ten similarly-minded musicians at your disposal it is probably for the better.

RIYL: Slint, At the Drive-In, Yes, Kansas, The Hold Steady, King Crimson

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Aficionado – The Myth About Real Life

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Aficionado – The Same Original Idea

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Aficionado – I Don’t Believe We’ve Met

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The Cubical recorded their debut album during the humid Californian summer, complemented by the production skills of a veteran in Dave Sardy whose resume includes Johnny Cash and The Rolling Stones. A reputable producer, a studio in Hollywood, and touting the glories of a California sun are commonly characteristics of any short-lived, big-label act these days, so it would probably be easy to group The Cubical in with the rest. How premature that would be though, especially considering that their sound is the contrary of such cliches. Their studied approach takes listeners to the past with a refreshing ideology rather than bringing them to familiar territory with nothing but a pre-designed template at their side. This is one way to prove that The Cubical transcend their natural advantages, though Dan Wilson’s vocal delivery is singularly the component that separates them from the others featured on this site that also attribute slight stylistic interpretations to common themes of the past.

That Wilson sounds like a possessed madman just waiting for an exorcism makes his presence uniquely empowering on its own. As listeners will learn though, this is not the primary allure. How Wilson is able to manipulate his half-enraged, half-deranged tone is what brings The Cubical’s debut, Come Sing These Crippled Tunes, to great heights. For instance, we all know that Tom Waits has a coarsely unique voice that is entirely his own. Certainly his audience is attracted to it too, but do you honestly think they would keep coming back if he had nothing to say? He relays all kinds of wonderfully bizarre narratives, but how he alternates his vocal pattern (somber whimper developing into a coarse mumble, etc.) in coordination with the content at hand. The band’s own producer, Dave Sardy, could probably tell you that himself by working with Johnny Cash, who even before Waits had this technique down pat. Neither have the voice that Simon Cowell would get on his knees for, but they were both inarguably able to accomplish more vocalized distinction than any eventual winner of Americal Idol will thanks in part to this ability. Correlating one’s God-given vocal chords with the applicable songwriting that their talents provided them is quite difficult, but artists like Cash and Waits have paved the way for talented musicians like The Cubical in that regard.

As Wilson croons about a certain infatuation with little fingertips and a tiny silhouette on “Edward the Confessor”, listeners will be tempted to either cower in fear and raised eyebrows or take solace in a voice that is one of the most unique devices for interpretation you are likely to find on a rock album. With roaring guitars, bluesy organs, and thunderous percussion, the five-piece tread in territories of rockabilly and power-pop depending on the effort, though modernistic classic-rock might be the best tag for this group. “Edward the Confessor” is frantic in its guitar-powered romps, making room for occasional absences of instrumentation in its entirety for breaks that serve to either introduce a rollicking guitar solo or a coarse rumble from Wilson. Either one is welcome throughout the entire effort as Wilson pleads for forgiveness to a beloved who evolves from an object of infatuation to a symbolic representation of repressed desires and superficial privation. “No, no, pay the price with such fame and virtue,” he screeches, allowing for the shift between repressed forgiveness and exhausted agitation.

Like any good film, the best part about The Cubical is how it keeps the listener on the edge of their seat despite some predictable consistencies. Although Wilson’s voice may take some getting used to in its resonant consistency and tonal pattern, it becomes a redeeming component of the band’s sound in tracks like “Edward the Confessor” and “Like Me (I’m a Peacock)”. The latter begins with a guitar riff that is so soaked in so much reverb and old-fashioned melodic goodness that it immediately invokes nostalgia. The chorus follows a similar path, even if Wilson’s lyrical urgings of ripping his unrequited lover from the ground may have been a bit too risque for the ’60s. The music is not too far from the era though, as the classic-rock feel is better than ever here with nothing more than guitar and rhythm dominating successfully. Wilson calls himself a demon quite suitably in the lyrics as well, and his voice only allows for the listener to picture the face of a disgruntled but talented individual whose repressed adoration has led him to this point. This point? I almost made the point of artistic triumph sound detrimental for a second. My apologies. The Cubical deal with some pretty gruesome takes on romanticism and repressed love throughout Come Sing These Crippled Tunes, but at all points it is simply a refreshing addition to a sound that would not sound appropriate any other way. Would you really want Dan Wilson’s voice to be singing about lollipops and rainbows? I didn’t think so.

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The Cubical – Edward the Confessor

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The Cubical – Like Me (I’m a Peacock)

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The Cubical – Great White Lie

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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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We are all part of a certain generation, whether it involves flower children or hair-metal. I was born in the late ’80s, so I found myself in between the phases of hair-metal and the revolution of home gaming consoles. What many of us remember so fondly about our childhoods are the hobbies that captivated us, no matter how embarrassing or odd they were. Along with baseball, playing Super Nintendo was one of mine. It is rare when something captivates parents and children alike, but being able to play complex video games in your home was something I remember amazed both my parents and I when it hit in the early ’90s. Along with the rest of the gaming world, Street Fighter was one of the games I played to death. And although I have not been interested in video games for a few years, I can still recall some specifics that made my 12-year-old mind spin with delight. Maybe this is why M. Bison were so brilliant in choosing their name. As a bunch of 20-somethings, what better way to appeal to your target audience by naming your band after a video game character that will immediately instill nostalgia to the bulk of your potential audience? A looming video game character that aspired to be the world’s next evil dictator, M. Bison was hardly the cuddliest hero from the childhoods of most kids that grew up in the ’90s. But as a band that grew up in the era, who wouldn’t want to take advantage of that?

Songwriters Brian Kinsella and Jeff Grant were friends in high school, but the commencement of M. Bison did not occur until after their college days. Both had recorded demos in the seclusion of their dorms and eventually combined to release their debut EP, Not Bad!, in late 2007 with bassist Chris Jones and drummer Daniel Braithwaite. Below are a few tracks from their debut full-length, set to be dropped in December. As the bubbly infectiousness of “All Things to All People” indicates, M. Bison’s sound is modern and accessible, with guitars empowering a polished fusion of synth-pop and indie-rock that resembles Ozma, Weezer, and other acts specializing in power-pop hooks with backings of synth-pop and indie-rock. In this track, the bridge that joins synths with guitars embodies their motive in eventually readying for utter cohesion, indicated here by the unbiased use of piano. Its catchiness is irrefutable, and should lead to some airplay on college radio as a result. “Elves Sing La La La” is too full-bodied and dexterous for that type of exposure, but in showing the group’s songwriting and performing strengths it is highly impressive. Its tireless, energetic type of spontaneous guitar-led rock reminds me of early Sparks albums like Indiscreet and Kimono My House, a testament to M. Bison’s wide array of influences from the ’60s (The Beatles) to the ’00s (Dr. Dog).

“Going Home Soon” plays to their more sincere side, using little more than an acoustic guitar and percussive hop to establish the feel-good acoustic harmonics of a Jason Mraz or Jack Johnson. It is a pretty elementary pop song but Kinsella and Grant offer some phenomenal vocal harmonics to spice things up a bit. It is probably the weakest of the samples, if only because of a song like “Samurai Showdown” shows that the group can create some majestic works that tower in comparison. This one falls along the lines of The Flaming Lips or Avalanches in their alignment of outdated clips with futuristic takes on electronic music. The latter part of this song shows this with its clips from “Kids Say the Darndest Things!” meshing with a variety of synth progressions, but prior to that it falls with ’60s pop revivalists in the vein of Dr. Dog. The middle of the track uses the flimsiness of the introduction to introduce great expansion in the form of intensified guitars and greater vocal melodies with even greater intensity. The melody is distinctively throwback, but what makes M. Bison so nostalgic is not only their name. How the same group is able to produce “Going Home Soon” and “Samurai Showdown” traces back to the days when the word “eclectic” was not used as a rare complimentary word, but rather a common characteristic of most active artists during pop’s heyday.

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M. Bison – All Things to All People

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M. Bison – Samurai Showdown

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M. Bison – Elves Sing La La La

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