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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Dead Young Records

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In one room sits a huddled group of professionals, ranging from for-pay songwriters to conniving promoters. Their eyes are all on a whiteboard that lists several opportunities for their fledging client on this starry Friday night. Should he show up at a star’s birthday party, present at an awards show, or attend a charity dinner? It must be such a hassle to be forced to choose just one. Most of the independent groups featured here would probably laugh at such a scenario, either shocked or appalled at the fact that publicity is more important than the music itself these days. But can you really blame those who take advantage of it? When you have a travelling circus of songwriters, performers, and executives by your side throughout the touring and studio sessions, is there really anything else to do apart from flaunting a pretty face and throwing some vocals into an auto-tuner? Artists often struggle to resist the allure of automated production like this, with the major labels hot after a certain talent or superficial component that they can manipulate and promote to produce millions. You are guaranteed a house in Malibu and a new collection of sports cars, but your artistic integrity will be forever plagued, even if the PR firm expertly crafts the image that YOU are the songwriter and not some struggling professional with a knack for melody. Some artists hardly have a choice in the matter, but others are able to find the perfect divide between polished, accessible production and DIY ethics.

The XX playfully list their influences in regard to opposite spectrums, commercial success and cult success. It is not so much dependent on style, but instead how similar approaches can end up differing dramatically based on the pressures of derivative automation. They like everything from Aaliyah to CocoRosie, Rihanna to The Cure, and Missy Elliott to Chromatics. Some sharp contrasts, sure, but their message is clear in describing their influences this way. This London-based quartet is the antithesis of independent elitism, showing both their adoration for mainstream pop music and independent stylistic mash-ups with a sound that contains the commercially receptive allure of acts like Rihanna and Aaliyah but without the repetitive, industrialized facades that tarnish their images. Perhaps this applies not so much in teen America or MTV’s headquarters, but more in regard to readers of this site. You obviously come here to discover bands that have little to no recognition as of its publishing date, and to produce something that I and others deem quality without substantial recognition usually means that ambition and/or innovation has prevented the act from scaling the dizzying heights of national recognition. I do know that many listeners of these acts strive to be “ironic” for the hell of it, but it is hard to imagine anything more ironic than innovation and ambition serving as detriments to an artist’s career opportunities.

In another ironic twist of sorts, perhaps The XX’s maturity can be attributed to their young age. It sounds nearly contradictory, but these four schoolyard friends from southwest London clearly embody a new musical philosophy that seems completely aware of the fact that pop music does not need to be overproduced, stylistically derivative, or full of Hollywood cameos in order to manufacture great hooks. It is a rare and admirable sight to behold, especially when art-rock natives like the Arctic Monkeys lately appear more focused on whether their songs are good enough for radio airplay than the album itself. Unlike most of their contemporaries, The XX have crafted an album, not a collection of songs that they jumbled together for purposes of exposure. The desperation is clearly not prevalent for the four-piece, which is all the more admirable when one considers that they are barely out of their teens. For their debut album, 2.0, it is audibly indicative that the members stayed up well past their bedtimes. Like Junior Boys or early Air, 2.0 possesses a late-night feel that can be attributed to serene soundscapes, mostly led by a rumbling rhythm section that paces itself perfectly. It complements chilly synths and husky vocals with absolute precision, alternating between concise bass lines and highly rhythmic propulsions when the song calls for it. It helps that, like many musicians, The XX seem to work almost exclusively at night. The quality shows.

Oliver Sim and Romy Madley Croft are responsible for these aforementioned vocals, showing their beautiful abilities in the form of both duets and solo accompaniments. Their voices often sound trapped in an icicle-laden cave, the reflection of reverb becoming apparent due to the minimalistic arrangements. Synthesizers and guitars collide in the beautiful “Infinity” as both interchangeably emit a soulful croon, with a slight tinge of Afro-pop being evident in the spright keys of the similarly presented “Basic Space”. This track reminds me of a Matthew Herbert effort; the arrangement evolves into an absolutely brilliant progression as Croft’s angelic vocals become complemented by Sim’s low, grizzly croon. He himself sounds a bit like Rufus Wainwright, perhaps driven by the seductive mixture of icy keys and slick guitar tremolos. “Crystalised” is another standout, opening with two simultaneous guitar progressions before unfolding into a largely bass-driven gem. The vocals of Sim and Croft do an exceptional job of building into the chorus, first delving into a duet before the explosive chorus of guitars, bass, and subtle samples that illustrate a sense of urgency with a distantly operatic synth pad. “We just keep on getting closer,” they sing before this moment occurs, once again showing that irresistible pop hooks can unfold from even the simplest of circumstances. 2.0 may be deemed minimalistic by casual admirers of pop music, but the fact is that The XX’s debut is more intricate and involved than most releases you are bound to pick up this year. All 11 tracks unfold with beauty, elegance, and precision, never hesitant to surprise a listener with innovation enclosed in an atmosphere of slight familiarity. 2.0 needs to be heard, as it is easily one of the best debuts of 2009.

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The XX – Basic Space

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The XX – Crystalised

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The XX – Infinity

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Rough Trade Records

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Robert Bradley has strayed on both sides of the tracks. From singing on the streets of Detroit to appearing on major-label albums and in high-budget films, he is reflective of artists that maximize even the most humble of circumstances to acquire experience and eventually prevail. Street performers can live happily if funds never go awry and they genuinely enjoy playing music for a living, but there must be an apparent frustration within these artists. How can they not lament an inability to get their music heard beyond the street they are performing on? Many street performers have devoted their lives to music, so there must be some apparent desire for recognition. For many this desire is subtle, and happiness is simply derived from seeing a dozen or so people a day walk by and display some sort of enjoyment in response to their music. Bradley was never a stereotypical street performer since he became renowned for his singing at coffeehouses, Baptist churches, and Detroit’s Eastern Market for nearly three decades, a local legend of sorts whose soulful voice and enigmatic presence made hordes of passerbys stop and take notice. He is also blind, so one must feel sorrowful in the respect that he is not able to see the happiness that his music brings to people’s faces. He certainly heard their praise though, and two of those that took lauded him were Michael and Andrew Nehra, members of indie-rockers Second Self.

The Nehra brothers were immediately impressed by Bradley’s natural ability, ardent demeanor, and obvious commitment, prompting a discussion among musicians once they met him on the street. The story goes like this: the group was practicing for Second Self when they heard a distinctive voice coming from below their apartment. They followed the soulful croon until they came across Bradley, paving the way for a discussion regarding future collaboration. Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise was formed then and it proved to mark a fusion of two generations, one consumed by blues and the other by alternative-rock. Bradley had decades’ worth of experience and his aged features showed that, while the Nehra brothers and drummer Jeff Fowlkes represented a bunch of fresh-faced indie-rock kids that were looking to add a twist to the occasionally generic alt-rock of the early ‘90s. An odd pairing to say the least, but it worked nonetheless and a deal with RCA Records took place shortly prior to the group’s debut album, Blackwater Surprise. Bradley’s years of cumulative musical experience and the Nehra brothers’ background in production were essential to the debut’s success, an impressive release that saw the blending of blues, soul, and gospel into a guitar-based formula that was easily received by the early ‘90s alternative-rock crowd.

Blackwater Surprise featured plenty of bluesy improvisation from Bradley, but the group’s second album, Time to Discover, resulted in a more expansive type of sound that found Bradley and his young backing band in a more collaborative environment. Bradley’s raspy vocals and honest lyrics were still the most distinctive parts of the release, but Fowlkes and the Nehra brothers provided backing instrumentation that provided more diversity, ambition, and infectiousness than the debut. The critical acclaim was even more prominent for Time to Discover too, with Allmusic calling it “the first modern blues classic of the new millennium.” One of Bradley’s best friends, Kid Rock, also made an appearance on the album before he was even relatively notorious. The acclaim was still not enough to keep the group on RCA Records though, as the style appeared too frustrating for commercial benefits. Some fans of blues found it to be too restrained, while alt-rockers found fault in its fusion of the past and present. Most critics and eclectic music fans enjoyed it though, so the group kept chugging along and signed with Vanguard for the release of their third album, New Ground, in 2002. This marked the departure of the Nehra brothers, but Fowlkes stayed on board and Bradley brought in Matthew Ruffino, a songwriter and guitarist. Similar results were achieved as on their RCA releases, drawing acclaim but not much in regard to commercial success. Critics saw it as consistency, but not enough in terms of improvement needed in order to vaunt the group into national recognition.

The group’s fourth album, Still Lovin’ You, featured Bradley leading the album more than before, taking sole songwriting track on every track apart from a cover of Isaac Hayes’ “I Thank You”. There was an additional emphasis on Philly soul in order to supplement Bradley’s vocals more comfortably, and it succeeded for the most part in another success that saw the band straying in a consistently good category that was not exactly “great” yet. This album was released in 2003, signaling a five-year wait in between the release of Still Lovin’ You and their new album, Out of the Wilderness. Efforts like “Alabama”, an ode to Bradley’s home state, slides more into classic rock territory; the sound is more reflective of The Allman Brothers while the chorus’ hook shows shades of Harry Nilsson. “My heart still lives in Alaba-a-ma,” Bradley croons during the gripping chorus. His voice sounds better than ever, and the backing instrumentation contains more swagger and hooks than all of his past releases. The greatness of “Alabama” even prompted the state’s governor, Bob Riley, to award Bradley with a Certificate of Commendation. Such a display is indicative of Bradley’s sheer poetic prowess, using both his vocals and vivid storytelling abilities to create something powerful and captivating.

In addition to the excellent “Alabama”, Out of the Wilderness contains plenty of material to get excited about. The swanky “Americaland” recalls vintage Elvis Costello with Bradley’s nasally mumbling, the organ’s eventual prominence, and the funk of the scraggly guitars, while “Love You in the Daytime” is strongly reminiscent of singer/songwriter balladry in the vein of Randy Newman. One of the album’s more sensitive cuts, “Beautiful Girl”, touches on the topic of dealing with a child leaving home. It is one of Bradley’s most lighthearted affairs but still achieves success based on his prevalent ardency, an aspect that is presented most prominently during the up-tempo chorus. “Cryin’ My Eyes Out” and “Gotta Find a Woman” are more conventional of Bradley’s soulful relations of despair and detriments, and the difference in tonality between tracks like these and “Beautiful Girl” or “Love You in the Daytime” makes the flow of Out of the Wilderness extraordinary. There is plenty to like here, as Out of the Wilderness is the album that has finally pushed Bradley from good to great. Although his past success is still respectable, his experience has finally paid off with his biggest success yet. The album has already generated unusual commercial success, with “Love You in the Daytime,” “Cryin’ My Eyes Out,” and “Everybody Wanna Party” appearing in the movie Love n’ Dancing with Billy Zane and Amy Smart. As Bradley’s track history shows though, I doubt he cares much about Hollywood success. Out of the Wilderness is a clear success that will bring enjoyment to many people, and that is the most important thing to the Alabama native.

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Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise – Alabama

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Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise – Love You in the Daytime

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Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise – Beautiful Girl

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Urban legends and Hollywood productions certainly have a hand in molding the common perception of being in a band. Want a bowl of M&Ms in your room after the show, with all the brown ones removed? It’s on the way, sir. How about suggestively introducing some groupies to live seafood? Sounds fun. Between urban legends like these and the handful of pseudo-rockumentaries in the vein of Almost Famous, the romanticized concept of existing within a popular band has existed at least since the British invasion’s introductory use of rock ‘n’ roll stereotyping in the early ‘60s. Since that time, what these aspects of film often seem to overlook are the artistic obstacles involved in this creative process. They instead choose to focus on the overly grandiose lifestyles and unique personalities of the band members themselves, often showing artistic struggles as the result of drug addiction or non-commitment. After all, what is going to sell more: sex and drugs or watching an aging band attempt to write songs together? Commercialism tells us that it is the former, so it remains difficult to criticize these filmmakers for attempting to make the elements of existing within a popular band accessible and engaging. To deal with such expected fallacies though, looking at the reasons for the California-based Klum’s imminent success should enlighten many fans in regard to the inner-workings of a successful group more than any overly dramatized film or VH1 special.

When one looks back upon the most successful rock groups of the 20th century, it is distinctive that practically every group was based on collaborative quality. Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, and Pink Floyd all had some members that attracted the spotlight more than other members, but their mutual infusion of collaborative quality was a distinction that allowed their music to live without any major constraints that ended their careers as a group too abruptly. Many of these groups included members that could pick up nearly any instrument and start strumming away to perfection, indicative of their musical talent but also of their willingness to make communication between members as clearly as possible. Instrumental differences are a common detriment to a cumulative songwriting process, as the greatest songwriters tend to exhibit audible mastery of every instrument included in their work. Being a multi-instrumentalist or at least having a respectable grasp of a broad array of instruments makes working with others significantly easier, as their ideas can be extracted easily and fused with others to create something genuinely worthwhile. The six members in Klum are all multi-instrumentalists and it allows their songwriting to serve as a display of an extraordinarily impressive cumulative effort, reinforced by a mutual dedication to melodic astuteness and successful pop experimentation that each member demonstrates in their own unique way.

Klum’s second full-length album, We Carelessly Turned Amazingly Into Nothing, can show the band’s excellent chemistry just in the quality of the eleven songs alone, but experienced listeners will likely walk away more impressed by their ceaselessly unpredictable approach and tactful cohesiveness. Klum delivers the type of experimental pop music that hardly sounds experimental, an oddly exciting result that derives from infectious melodies, uplifting brass arrangements, and an unpredictable assortment of instrumentation and vocalists. As far as the classification of their genre goes, Klum and their efforts on We Carelessly Turned Amazingly Into Nothing are not restricted by any linear stylistic identity. “For Sale a New Life” plays like an amiable indie-pop charmer with its twinkling keys and ukulele accompaniment, while the fascinating “The Showmen” benefits from boisterous electric guitars, backing pub-like yelps, and concise brass arrangements. The former sounds like some spawn of Unicorns and The Leisure Society, while the latter finds distinctive comparisons to Elbow, British Sea Power, and art-rockers in the vein of Franz Ferdinand and Dogs. These comparisons alone suggest a vast difference in style on a track-by-track basis, which is true. But what must not go overlooked is Klum’s apparent ability to implement the stylistically diverse into a style that is honest, unique, and something that they can truly call their own.

While “For Sale a New Life” does a great job of showing off the band’s indie-pop leanings and “The Showmen” fulfills the task of successfully exposing Klum’s grittier, rock-oriented side, it is a few of the more interesting tracks on We Carelessly Turned Amazingly Into Nothing that really make it one of the most memorable debuts of the year thus far. The opening “Bashing for the Kids” plays with over-the-top guitar riffs and ardent vocal deliveries in a way that Black Kids would envy, indicative of Klum’s ability to bring out the expressively effective without appearing melodramatic. In fact, Klum seem free-spirited and fun most of the time, even during the somber chamber-pop balladry of “My Baby’s Just Stardust” and the twinkling build-up to the distorted angst of “Our Monster’s End.” Perhaps the biggest gem on the album though comes from “Nonbeliever”, an undeniably fist-pumping frenzy of a track that shows the group’s talents most prevalently. The various vocal melodies howl like wolves at the moon when the first verse is introduced, led astray over a catchy piano progression and a variety of samples that allow the song to be simultaneously haunting and infectious. The overlapping vocal harmonies of Brock Flores, Joe Fraley, and Aaron Arkenburg allow concurrent high-pitched and low-pitched vocals to supplement the brilliant intricacies of “Nonbeliever” as it flawlessly concludes the track. “Nonbeliever” should be all a listener needs to be convinced of Klum’s blatant ability, but the likes of “For Sale a New Life” and “The Showmen” also do a fine enough job. In fact, if I were forced to choose one track to represent this album, it would prove extraordinarily difficult. We Carelessly Turned Amazingly Into Nothing is too consistently memorable for such linear classifications.

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Klum – Nonbeliever

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Klum – For Sale a New Life

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Klum – The Showmen

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In art, period pieces have long given spectators a taste of what life was like in the past, regardless of whether the work was a film created in the early 1900s, an Elizabethan tragedy in the 1500s, or a mere thousand-year-old drawing on the walls of a cave. So, hundreds of years from now, one can wonder what will be considered the most commonplace “period piece” of our time. Forms of art and sculpture have been used as such for thousands of years, but recent technologically enabled forms of art like film and music have been emerging as forms of art that have the ability to hold just as much historical importance. The four members of Death to Anders echo this sentiment in their musical output, with their songs representing a form of intricate veneration for the era that they work and progress in. Their sophomore album, Fictitious Business, is a self-proclaimed “surreal and cryptic look at life in the 21st century”; it is certainly a daunting task to chronicle the early beginnings of a century through audible representation alone, though the LA-based four-piece do not appear intimidated at all. Their intelligent utilization of a satirically invigorating story-led lyrical delivery provides for an entertaining scope into the modernistic age we are all familiar with. Yeah, it usually takes a lot to make the contemporary working class appear as dramatically appealing, but Death to Anders seemingly have to the ability to do it with ease.

The beginnings of Death to Anders can be traced back to Musicians Institute, a music college in Hollywood that has graduated the likes of Rivers Cuomo, John Frusciante, and Jeff Buckley. Attending students Rob Danson and Nicholas Ceglio met and initially bonded over their love for early ’90s indie-rock, with names like the Pixies, Pavement, and Sonic Youth being a common topic of conversation between the two. The duo later came across bassist Peter DiBiasio and drummer John Broeckel, both joining the band after finding symmetrical musical intentions. Broeckel had previously played in the local LA band Crooner with Nikki Monninger and and Christopher Guanlao, now both members of the increasingly popular Silversun Pickups. Death to Anders’ finalized lineup began playing shows in late 2005, finding a thriving fan base in the Silverlake and Echo Park areas of Los Angeles. Hot off playing several shows at a handful of reputable LA venues, the four-piece released their debut album, Punctuate the Calamities, in January of 2007. Engineered, mixed, and produced by the members themselves, the independently released debut was a true DIY effort, building upon the group’s already steady reputation in LA. As stated on their web site, Death to Anders’ goal is “to bring vitality, originality, and most of all hope, back to LA’s music scene.” So far, so good.

Likening a camera lens to a pair of paranoid eyes, Death to Anders’ attempt to audibly chronicle a concise look at life in the 21st century comes across as generally successful, even if the melodic charm occasionally overshadows the group’s coordinated lyrical wit. Their sophomore album, Fictitious Business, does justice in exposing the grittiness of authentic human emotion as individuals learn to cope to circumstances that are futuristic, unpredictable, and consumingly unfamiliar. From self-destruction and self-improvement to superficial lust and inherent beauty, the range of presented human emotions of Fictitious Business is broadly impressive. In an age where technology attempts to manipulate all human processes, it also proves to be quite fascinating. This lage scope of lyrical ambitiousness is additionally done entirely through an enjoyable music formula that likens the group’s influences of early ’90s indie-rock, with groups like the Pixies, Pavement, and even Modest Mouse being too vital to overlook. Vocalist Rob Danson possesses vocals that appear fantastically suitable for the band’s alternative style. Like his past influences, one can easily hear shades of Isaac Brock and Stephen Malkmus in Danson’s delivery, with his range impressively stretching from moments of squealing intensity to subdued murmurs of sincere ardency. This is done over an equally impressive instrumental approach, with a wide array of guitars, keys, strings, and an exceptionally tight rhythm section providing for numerous moments of lasting durability.

The album’s first single, “Camera Lens”, appears to be a good choice, being the most accessible and infectious track on the album. The initial moments provide as Danson croons traditionally over the strums of an acoustic guitar and the lucid beat of a snare. “Ink blot real time endings, endings with no middle, endings with no end,” he sings, once again emphasizing the time and period as significant contributing factors. The song’s presentation of folk-pop is enjoyable as a verse, but the chorus is even better as it truly serves as signification of Death to Anders’ love for ’90s indie-rock. “Come in spread light like a camera lens’ F-Stop,” he sings with increased impetuosity as an increased flurry of electric guitars and intensified rhythm take hold of the song’s original melody. “You know it’s right when everything just won’t stop, you know it’s wrong when everything just…” I could not resist likening Danson to Isaac Brock during the chorus’ memorable hook; it is certainly nothing to be ashamed of, after all. Like on “Camera Lens”, he also establishes a signature sound on the opening self-titled track. It is a more evident example of the group’s instrumental prowess, delivering a series of impressively layered guitar progressions that likens early Radiohead as Danson ironically declares, “We are business men in town manufacturing our sound. And our specialty we found – writing fiction out of sound.” For even more variation, check out the darkly beautiful “Doll”. Featuring contributions on violin from One Trick Pony’s Charlene Huang, the strings establish it as one of the most haunting tracks on the album.  Comparing lifeless artificialities to human manipulation, the dark sense of humor portrayed is stunningly poignant over an instrumental force that sees a lethal combination of guitars, strings, and empowering vocals.

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Death to Anders – Camera Lens

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Death to Anders – Fictitious Business

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Death to Anders – Doll

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The five members of Dappled Cities comfortably define themselves as a band who creates “oddball pop”. Oddball pop? Well, the particular specification seems to be getting more common by the day with bands like Danielson, Sunset Rubdown, and Islands all making popular entries into the contemporary music setting. With non-traditional song structures accompanied by instruments originally only found in the closets of gypsies and priests, such artists are rapidly finding new and creative ways to express themselves. Ten years ago, one would have probably looked at you quite strangely if you told them that adding accordions, xylophones, musettes, rhaitas, and high-pictched squeals to a musical composition would equate to a large success. But as usual, innovation always strikes to those first who dare to disprove stereotypes. The five boys from Dappled Cities have a similar goal with their philosophy, being to create music that is both catchy and innovative, utilizing radical production techniques and vocal presentations in order to provide dramatic differentiation and atmospheric reliability between songs. They come to us from Sydney, Australia, in a country that has seen originating artists such as Melbourne’s The Temper Trap, Julian Nation, and Gotye, names that have all been featured on this web site, in addition to many others, due to their sheer creativity and factor of enjoyment. Those who were familiar with Dappled Cities prior to this article may have previously known them as Dappled Cities Fly, though they recent underwent a name change, omitting the “Fly”. Originally called Periwinkle when fifteen-year-olds Dave Rennick and Hugh Boyce met Alex Moore and Tim Derricourt (of English descent) in 1997 after discovering they all lived near each other, went to the same high school, and had a similar taste in music. They had musical originality even in the beginning, taking great pride in it as well. “We were surrounded by a pararecieveddoxical ‘west coast punk’ environment,” co-vocalist Dave Rennick went on to say, “[so] we weren’t too well received at bands competitions and the like.” Realizing that the close-minded suburbs weren’t the place for them, the band set their sights on the large city of Melbourne after graduation. After keyboardist Mark Bradshaw joined the band, the name of Dappled Cities Fly was settled. Following several lengthy tours of Australia, New Zealand, Europe, and the United States (most recently SXSW), in addition to the release of their debut, A Smile, Ned Cooke replaced Bradshaw as the keyboardist, in addition to the dropping of “Fly” from the band name.

For those wondering where the second name of Dappled Cities Fly derived from, co-vocalist Dave Rennick has the odd answer. “It’s hard to spell, hard to pronounce, even harder to remember, and has inevitably been coined on several occasions as the ‘worst band name ever'”. Such characteristics apparently brought a bit of satisfaction to the band, seeing the name as entirely original, just like their musical approach. According to guitarist and vocalist Tim Derricourt, the word “Fly” was dropped from the name for “artistic reasons”, mainly being that it looked better without it on the cover of their newest and second album, Granddance. Rennick also went on to clarify the situation, stating it’s merely an abbreviation. “We are just trying to make it easier so when we are in pubs trying to talk to people, we can just say it as Dappled Cities. It’s also that the label in the US [Dangerbird] wanted us to drop the ‘Fly’ entirely, which we weren’t keen to do at all,” Rennick continued to to say, “so we are just trying to get the best of both worlds, but in doing so we’ve actually just made it more confusing for everyone, which I guess is one of our traits as a band: confusing people. It’s part of keeping ourselves interesting and interested, but for the record we have not changed our name.” Granddance follows their first LP, A Smile, a the critically acclaimed debut that introduced the band’s creative sound to international ears. In addition to bands like Youth Group, The City Lights, and Red Riders, Dappled Cities are known as one of the distinctive bands in causing awareness for Australia’s growing music scene, a setting that prior to this decade was only recognizable for names like AC/DC, Olivia Newton-John, The Go-Betweens, and Silverchair. Now, we have a contemporary presentation of Australian artists like Kylie Minogue, Architecture in Helsinki, and The Avalanches in addition to my aforementioned newcomers.

Even though A Smile was a very well-recieved debut that introduced the band’s creative sound to international ears, the band was harsh in criticism of their own work, calling it a linear alternative rock album that consisted of stereotypical “noodly Pavement guitar rock”. After Smile was recorded in Australia, the five-piece decided made their trip out West to soak up the sights and sounds. Of course, they chose the city that represents Western pop culture in the brightest spotlight: Hollywood, California, which is the new destination for the recording of Granddance. Speaking of the new album, Rennick says, “it’s a lot grander, more bigger sounds – along the lines of the Beach Boys, late Flaming Lips and so on. Lots of synths and organized sounds, as opposed to noodly Pavement guitar rock.” Listening to the eleven tracks on the album, I certainly have to agree with Mr. Rennick, as the band’s sound has progressed significantly with a mature approach sounding off in most tracks under the watchful supervision of producers Jim Fairchild (ex-guitarist of Grandaddy) and Peter Walker (Dangerbird). Dave Rennick was quite fond of the producers’ contributions, saying “They were great. Theyâ€re both musicians so they’ve had a lot of experience in the studio and whatnot. It was like hanging out with chums and all of us making combined decisions.” That experience certainly showed, as it created an admirable sound in combination with the youthful talent of Dappled Cities. Tim Derricourt and Dave Rennick both split the songwriting on the album, with each contributing five or six songs apiece to the final result of eleven tracks. Grandance was released last November in Australia and saw a United States release on March 1st.

The album’s opener, “Holy Chord”, was written by Derricourt and it shows a certain factor of mature intensity that was not found in A Smile or any other previous Dappled Cities song, for that matter. Derricourt’s vocals have often been compared to Peter Gabriel’s and though this song isn’t the best example for a Gabriel comparison, one can easily see how unique Derricourt’s delivery is. In one instance, he goes from an underbelly of mumbles to a high-pitched squeal that is synchronized to the utilization of several bells and keys. Think along the lines of a mixture between the creativity of Danielson, the incoherent hooks of Carey Mercer, and the durability of Peter Gabriel. Somewhere in between that odd mess of enjoyment, you have Tim Derricourt’s “Holy Chord”. After an intense arrangement of guitars, lively percussion, and a mass diversity of backing vocals and effects, Derricourt concludes the song with a rather surprising question. “What does it mean to take off all our clothes and look into your eyes and say, ‘I mean it’?” Like the majority of the songs, “Holy Chord” is filled with hooks, some that are discovered on first listen and others that are found on the tenth. For this reason, in addition to the exotic nature of the track, it reminds me somewhat of a more vocal Animal Collective, if they had more emphasis on pop music. “Work It Out” moves a bit more slowly and dramatically, in large part to the synth involvement. Throughout the song, a largely noticeable synth pad composes a very distinctive melody that is dependent on Derricourt’s range and enthusiasm, resulting in a track full of enjoyment and artifical beauty. “Vision Bell” is not as diverse as the other tracks on Granddance and even recalls A Smile a bit, though when it’s all said and done, the song is one of the most accessible and enjoyable on Granddance. The vocals show a smug admiration for Brian Wilson in some sections over the elegance of melodious keys, reverb effects, and incessant guitars. The hooks, for the most part, lie in the vocal execution, often sounding like a bizarre duet. “The Eve The Girl” is a particularly bleak song calling on a family where the deadbeat father (“a useless man”) and disoriented mother (“a useless mess”) give birth to a “useless son”, setting the norm for a society of unrightful expectations, familial influence, and unavoidable loneliness. Such dramatic songs like “Beach” and “Watercourse” hold the same tone of effectiveness in overlaying a dramatic sense to a newly cultivated auditory presentation. Rennick’s “Fire Fire Fire” has the potential to do well on college radio charts with a straightforward approach that pushes forward a radiant chorus accompanied by a charming set of backing “oohs” and reverb effects. “You’re not a fire so I will not dance with you,” may elude to a sense of emotional and sociological relinquishment, with the enjoyable harmonies making it all the more satisfying. With the majority songs being nothing short of entirely gratifying, Granddance is an extremely impressive sophomore album from Dappled Cities, one that should certainly find them a larger international following. Even though we are only three months into it, Dappled Cities are my favorite Australian band of the year.

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Dappled Cities – Holy Chord

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Dappled Cities – Work It Out

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Dappled Cities – Vision Bell

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The ancient stereotype that aging artists have a tendency to spiral downwards has echoed through the past, present, and will continue to do so in the future. Sure, it’s understood that Dylan will never release another Highway 61 Revisited and Van Morrison will never return to the caliber of Moondance, but what about the artists who avoided fame for most of their career? Danny Cohen has been making music for almost fifty years, perhaps most notably known for fronting the Charleston Grotto, who achieved the hit single ‘Kill The Teacher’ in 1961. Growing up during the 1950s in Hollywood, Cohen was the son of Gene Cohen, an actor and sketch artist who engaged Danny in the interesting world of stardom and film production. “Growing up in that L.A. atmosphere has always had a huge effect on everything I do,” Cohen says of television’s effect on his music and society in general, “TV has always been a huge influence”. Unlike his father, however, Danny became more interested in a film’s music score over the actual storyline and direction. Eventually regarding sci-fi film scorer Bernard Hermann as one of this first infuences, Cohen began to play lead guitar in junior high school, adapting the popular theme at the time by fronting several surf rock bands. After founding one of the first proto-punk bands Charleston Grotto in the early 1960s, his cult following got the best of him. Cohen actually believes that the Charleston Grotto invented punk music, crediting their guitarist for being one of the first innovators of three-chord logic. Perhaps a foreshadowing of the attitude of stereotypical future punk fans, Charleston Grotto was banned from performing at a L.A. club after a large group of fans apparently smeared feces all over the bathrooms in the venue. It was apparenty inspired by an act that Cohen put on during the show that involved chocolate pudding, something he called “Disco Diarrhea”. I’m sure Cohen enjoys telling that story to his adoring fans. After the band’s departure, Cohen dabbled in collaborations and varied art in the following several decades. He emerged as a solo artist in 1998, releasing Self-Indulgent Music. He admittedly calls himself an “outsider artist”, joining the ranks of Jandek and Greg Sage in that sense. Cohen has rarely been interviewed throughout his career and remains fairly unknown by avoiding the spotlight, though there remains a group of fans who have been following his work for several decades.

Cohen’s age is certainly not stopping him from releasing his fifth solo album. Shades Of Dorian Gray is destined to introduce Cohen’s eccentric musical style to a whole new collection of audiences. Fans of Oscar Wilde may recognize the album’s title as reference to Wilde’s text of a similar name, though Cohen actually believes that The Picture of Dorian Gray is one of Wilde’s worst books. He had an entirely different reason for using it altogether. “I used the title because the songs were pointing me in that direction,” Cohen said, “I felt like there were a lot of gray tones in the themes and music sounds, whereas my last record (We’re All Gunna Die) had earth tones. This one is more subtle and musty and I liked the play on words”. With that cleared up, Cohen describes his style on the album as “guitar dominated gothic folk-blues” and I tend to agree with that statement for most of the album. Initial listeners of Cohen may tend to regard his style as sloppy and incoherent at times, though brilliance shines in songs such as the fantastic ‘Devil Brat’, demonstrating Cohen’s true form as a musician. Actually, the guided aspect could even be compared to Daniel Johnston, though Cohen certainly has more control of his vocal tone and better understanding of instrumental variety and musical theory. Whereas Johnston was more of a simplistic songwriter with heartfelt lyrics, Cohen releases arrangements with guitars, mellotrons, organs, horns, and strings with similar lyrics reflecting keen storytelling. His forced melodical tone and occasionally slurred vocals are more reminiscent of Johnson, while his instrumental knowledge is actually similar to that of Tom Waits, who is a friend and supporter of Cohen’s works, introducing Cohen to fans of his own. Cohen’s raspiness also indicates a slight comparison to Waits’ vocal delivery as well. The lyrical content on ‘Devil Brat’, like most of his other songs, is indicative on the bizarre and often symbolic. Playing with the similarities of evil and lust, Cohen’s romantic outlook is one of bleak misfortune. Religious tones have remained consistent throughout Cohen’s career, this time relating relationship woes and the devil itself, connecting the two in his clever and bizarre fashion. His hooks take a few listens to uncover but they are certainly worth the time intended. ‘Palm of My Hand’ once again retraces Cohen’s fascination with the bleak and weary, from the introductory mention of Dylan Thomas’ death to the closing rapture of swift strings. “Once I had you in the palm of my hand,” Cohen breezily sighs over an impressive string arrangement. Such emotional quirkiness leaves room for applause. ‘Vertigo’ seems to be a homage to Cohen’s fascination of sci-fi movie scores, setting the tone with an eerie organ and acoustic guitar, backed by solemn vocals on slight reverb. While it is clear that Cohen’s style is not for all and some of his tracks are even unlistenable, his handful of successful songs are of overwhelming ingenuity and passion. Music seems to keep Cohen young, even if his music often sounds like it resonates from a funeral parlor. His usual attire of a monochromatic suit certainly doesn’t help to avoid the gloomy aspect as well. Either way, his original style is still in tact and he continues to write very engaging songs. Shades of Dorian Gray will be released on February 6th. If you enjoy a slice of the bizarre, this album is certainly for you.

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Danny Cohen – Devil Brat

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Danny Cohen – Palm of My Hand

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Danny Cohen – Vertigo

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While Silversun Pickups have been one of the most blogged about rookie bands in 2006, I saw and heard them for the first time on a local television show on Saturday night. The first thing that struck me was the band’s involvement in 90s influences, from The Smashing Pumpkins to My Bloody Valentine, the layers of sounds that Silversun Pickups demonstrate is quite unique for a band who formed only a year ago. After releasing their debut EP Pikul on an indie label in Hollywood (Dangerbird), there was a demand from critics for a more diverse and concentrated sound. Whether they heard the pleas or decided for themselves, the foursome from Los Angeles lived up to expectations on their debut full-length, Carnavas. Released this past July, it recieved a consistent range of solid reviews from most major publications, thrusting the band into the spotlight. Vocalist/guitarist Brian Aubert is a main component of the band’s sound, with rough-edged vocals the rival the likes of Sleater-Kinney or Placebo, in combination with his aggressive play on guitar that is often dependant on distorted effects. Aubert’s vocals are angelic and would even be mistakened for a female’s or backup vocalist Nikki Monninger, adding to the originality that is even more dramatic than the fellow influences of Brian Molko and Billy Corgan. However, no band member shines over one another. The rhythm section of Nikki Monninger and Christopher Guanlao is very close-knit, while the keyboards of Joe Lester are sparse, but when they appear it is always appreciable with nice execution.

The atmospheric effects on Carnavas often consist of heavenly synth pads and ambient distortion, taking a cue from the psychedelic shoegaze of My Bloody Valentine and Low. If I tried to pinpoint Silversun Pickups’ general sound, I would come away with most cult alternative bands of the 90s. The structure of most songs is muddy, though they gain a certain fixture in your mind after repeated listens. ‘Little Lover’s So Polite’ begins steadily with a distorted guitar and a steady rhythm section, as Aubert’s thin vocals wear themselves in nicely as a repeated guitar lick is complemented into the song. The chorus is propelled by a a light bridge that features Monninger and Aubert on vocals, with the second section of the song being accelerated by a somewhat lengthy guitar solo after the bridge. Songs such as ‘Future Foe Scenarios’ and ‘Waste It On’ are good examples of the group’s use of rhythm and atmospheric pads, with guitar actually becoming a second standard to Aubert, who uses his general emotion well to construct the band’s overall feel. The chorus of ‘Waste It On’ eventually borders on an anthem, resulting in one of the most concise and catchy tracks on the album. I’m likely not the first one to tell you Carnavas is one of the best debuts of the year, but if you’re a fan of 90s alternative and you haven’t heard this one yet, you’re missing out.

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Silversun Pickups – Little Lover’s So Polite

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Silversun Pickups – Future Foe Scenarios

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Silversun Pickups – Waste It On

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We have been given the opportunity to host a giveaway for The Walkmen’s new album, “Pussy Cats” Starring The Walkmen. Well, it’s not actually their album, figuratively speaking, but a track-by-track remake of Harry Nilsson’s classic 1974 album, Pussy Cats. For those who are unaware, the story of Nilsson’s Pussy Cats is quite interesting. The original album was created by Nilsson and his good friend, John Lennon. Both were infamous drinking buddies during the 1970s, with their alcohol and drug use making life busy for tabloid writers. After the two were banned from most of the prominent Hollywood nightclubs, they finally decided they should collaborate and work on an album together. During a secluded weekend, the original Pussy Cats was written and recorded, with Nilsson rupturing a vocal chord in the process. Recognizing the rare and privileged chance to work with Lennon, Nilsson kept his vocal issues a secret and continued the album with his voice fading in strength. This is something that The Walkmen’s singer Hamilton Leithauser emphasizes well, on such tracks as the great ‘Many Rivers To Cross’. Lennon’s influence can still be heard significantly, especially with the Lennon-esque hook when Leithauser breaks out, “my women left me and she didn’t say why” over a simplistically catchy bass line and dramatic strings. The cover of Dylan’s always entertaining ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ is another highlight, while the dark ‘Black Sails’ portrays The Walkmen portraying their most natural sound with a heavy Scott Walker influence. The Walkmen’s rendition of the album is a nice achievement that shows the band’s influences and talents in a new light. Though there are a few songs that stumble, it is usually the same songs that did so in the original. Either way, it’s a captivating take on an older album that often recieves little recognition.

So, how can you win the album? It’s easy and you don’t even have to be talented to win. Usually in past contests, I have made the entries in short essay or creative form. This time, it’s pure luck. Maybe I’m trying to reach out to the illiterate, but the truth is that I’m too busy lately with classes to give fair judgement towards dozens of entries. So, all you have to do is add Obscure Sound to your bookmarks at del.icio.us. I will randomly pick two winners from the list of people who have the site on their bookmarks, so please supply a valid e-mail address when you sign up for a free del.icio.us account. This is just the best way I can keep contests (based on luck) organized, without any cheaters getting in the way. I will ask the two winners their postal addresses, and I will ship out one album of “Pussy Cats” Starring The Walkmen to each winner for free. Best of luck!

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The Walkmen – Many Rivers To Cross

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The Walkmen – Subterranean Homesick Blues

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The Walkmen – Black Sails

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