by Lauren Tischler

The sound of Ghost Mall is indescribable. But the band, made up of college roommates Pierce, Alex, Cody, and Jimi, give it their best shot. “Garage-y ramshackle pop/ethereal,” lead singer Pierce Lightening struggles, attempting to put a label on his own music. With a lead singer named Pierce Lightening, and influences along the lines of “Babes, Springsteen, Comic Books, and Star Wars,” you are naturally drawn to the quartet. What is surprisingly more interesting than the band members themselves is the music on their first album, Goons.

The album, produced by DJ Teenwolf of Ninjasonik, features five well-done and oddly classy songs. The EP starts out with the marijuana-induced “40 Nugs”, and while I would have chosen a different track for the first, it sets an appropriate tone to the album without giving away their mysterious style. Next is “Senile Felines”, setting a dark synthesized tone that lures the listener further in. The next couple of tracks are “Young Liars”, followed by “Balloon Idea’s”, which captures an eerie essence while keeping it light; it samples a few lines from Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend” with convincing maneuvers. The final track, “Johnny Appleseed”, serves as a near-perfect ending. It is more of an anthem than anything, providing the listener with a soft sort of closure.

The album itself is a work of art, but it is clear that Ghost Mall are about performance art more than anything else. Ethan Barnett, a fan, describes a show in full detail. “The first time I saw them, it was in the basement of SUNY New Paltz. It was one of the coldest nights of that winter, but as soon as I got into the basement and Ghost Mall was about to begin their set, I began to sweat because there were about 75 people packed into a small classroom. They began their first song and the room turned into a beehive, with everyone dancing in every direction. The lead singer was lost in the crowd, and all you could see was one of his hands. By the time they began their second song, the keyboardist and guitarist were lost in the mess too. Midway through their set, Pierce was thrown up into a crowd surf, and he held onto a water pole that was soaking wet from condensation. After the final song, “Johnny Appleseed”, everyone ran out the exit covered with sweat. Head to toe.”

“I don’t know what we’re trying to achieve,” Pierce says about his band’s music. “We’re just being honest. Sometimes it’s about our specific friends, sometimes it’s about how everything should be. Mostly, our songs are about the end of the world. So maybe they’re a warning.”

You can catch Ghost Mall on September 24th at 323 Wall Street in Uptown Kingston, New York.

RIYL: Japanther, Penguin Prison, Male Bonding, Urinals, Latterman, Cloud Nothings, Abe Vigoda, Times New Viking, No Age, The Mae Shi, Parts & Labor, Psychedelic Horseshit, AIDS Wolf, Wavves, Lightning Bolt, Jay Reatard, NODZZZ, Sic Alps, HEALTH, Arab on Radar

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Ghost Mall – 40 Nugs

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Ghost Mall – Balloon Ideas

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Ghost Mall – Johnny Appleseed (acoustic version)

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An appreciation for film is arguably the most common first step in uncovering and eventually admiring the arts. Contrary to the conventional uses of music, photography, or painting, children are exposed to both educational and entertaining films at an early age in order to maximize their general perception of morals, social interaction, and social norms. At this early age, art is hardly an afterthought. Guardians use film to make their children more socially aware, and mainly to safely occupy them without putting much effort forth. The same could be said for something like finger-painting or children’s music, but kid-centric films remain the norm in introducing children to media for the first time. The others do not have the capacity for upheld interest when the child is older. When they grow of age and begin to examine the audible and visual creations around them, film is naturally the first form of art that many gravitate towards. Complex intricacies involving camera angles, music theory, and color schemes are not found within the arts until further investigation regardless, but to capture an essence of childhood in-depth is perhaps more rewarding than an interest that peaked around one’s pre-teens, which is most often the case with music or painting. There are always exceptions, which are what most of us like to call prodigies, but there are few truly talented artists that undervalue the function of film, whether it is used to complement their music or paintings, or simply enjoyed as a hobby.

I have featured dozens of artists that got their start by scoring music for low-budget films; The Western States Motel, Camphor, and The Leisure Society are just a few that come to mind. Apart from producing stellar music, they share a common bond in the narrative appeal of their songs. All of their recent albums have been at least slightly conceptual, whether it was The Leisure Society’s fascination with occupied time or Camphor’s infatuation with wabi sabi (a Japanese conceptual belief that true greatness exists in the inconspicuous details of our world and true beauty can only be discovered in life’s imperfections). Neither of these thematic approaches relates to film, but as groups with experience in both film and songwriting they have an increased capacity to interweave various experiences to result in an enhanced narrative for their music. For filmmakers this could result in more effective sound design for their films. These artists have found the proper divide in differentiating and unifying the uses of audible and visual art, leading to results that are more frequently successful than those with a minimal externally artistic influence. Although their appreciation for film is only found through their name to the naked eye, Noah and the Whale possess the same narrative prowess that most songwriters seem to foolishly neglect.

Taking their name from Noah Baumbach’s excellent 2005 film The Squid and the Whale, Noah and the Whale profoundly express an appreciation for film’s ability to simulate dramatic real-life experiences into a comforting, occasionally humorous depiction. This is what Baumbach’s The Squid and the Whale did so gracefully, which is perhaps why the London-based quartet chose their name as an ode to its flawless approach. Their sophomore album, The First Days of Spring, also plays with a funny little thing we call human emotions in a way that relieves the heartbreak, loneliness, and general sullenness of a life without authentic fulfillment. This is also a common theme among the films of Wes Anderson, another filmmaker that Noah and the Whale have publicly displayed their adoration for. The four-piece has already caught the attention of Baumbach, so I would personally be shocked if these guys are not featured in a film by the end of next year. The First Days of Spring clarifies this sentiment entirely, as it plays like a feature film from beginning to end. It is almost like a soundtrack to one of the quirkiest, but also ardently effective, films of the year. That sounds like a film by Baumbach or Anderson to me. You can expect them to be proclaimed the next big thing when either of them features the group in a movie… it seems pretty imminent at this point.

The group’s debut, Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down, last year was undoubtedly impressive, but when listening to The First Days of Spring and looking back on it the debut seems like such a menial affair. This is such an expansive, mature release that it only vaguely resembles the group that put out one of last year’s more impressive debuts. The fascinating thing here is the album’s progression, shifting from barren folk tracks like “Our Window” to the cinematic orchestras in “Instrumental I” and “Love of an Orchestra” with precision. It does not sound forced nor desperate, but rather an example of how this is a group that clearly values conceptual themes. For a track like “Our Window”, lead vocalist and songwriter Charlie Fink puts on his best Matt Berninger impression by mumbling subtly brilliant lyrical progressions in a deep baritone that resonates with elegance over his evolving folk melodies. “I Have Nothing” and “My Broken Heart” are in the more single-worthy category with their soulful accessibility. The former is particularly reminiscent of the acoustical, pop-minded tracks of the group’s debut, recalling the melancholic practice of unfaithfulness as Fink pleads for his beloved to walk with him on “a new spring morning”. Rebirth, reconciliation, and rejection are all common occurrences in Fink’s work. “Come back to me, my darling,” he pleads. “I’d do anything to be at your side.”

“My Broken Heart” is perhaps the album’s shining moment, not wasting a moment over its five-minute span with a perfect mixture of guitars, strings, and a voice that is powerful enough to make anything sound convincing. “Broken hearts are a fickle thing and complicated too,” Fink sings. “I thought I believed in love but I’ve never seen it through.” After lamenting that he never married the girl he loved, he resorts to a technique that most songwriters in the indie-folk genre are reluctant to use: the power of optimism. “But I’ll be laughing again,” he sings before the emergence of a triumphant horn. The track picks up into an expansively rewarding evolution here, leaving room for the gracefulness of strings and eventually a guitar solo that wraps this gem up beautifully. This ingenious use of additional instrumentation, particularly the emergence of brass, is particularly reminiscent of Andrew Bird, another immensely gifted songwriter with a knack for narrative bliss. But comparisons are insulting for a band that has released something as memorable as The First Days of Spring. For as the name of this album entails, Noah and the Whale have experienced a rebirth in which their music resonates with a sense of emotional authenticity that is only believable from the mouths of children. But with music as heartfelt, genuine, and excitable as this, no one can doubt the progressive talent of Noah and the Whale.

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Noah and the Whale – My Broken Heart

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Noah and the Whale – I Have Nothing

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Noah and the Whale – Love of an Orchestra

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Even though it sounds painstakingly obvious, a great album must have something that appeals to the listener it so desires to captivate. Whether it has to do with the listener’s stylistic preference or simply some great songwriting on the artist’s part, the definition of a “classic album” encompasses characteristics that are universally receptive enough to result in a consensus that classifies that album as enduring, worthwhile, and groundbreaking in some form. One’s favorite album can alternate every few days or so and erratic taste certainly plays a large role in this classification, but most albums that are regarded as classics do not appeal to everyone. It is not that they contain major flaws, but everyone’s tastes are different and these varying tastes have an undeniable  impact on our personal perception of music, film, or any form of classics in art. Classics tend to have a universal conception among fans and experts alike though. A fan of strictly contemporary hip-hop may not carry even a single Beatles album on their iPod and it should not matter because everyone’s tastes are different, but if that person attempts to discredit something like The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and its influence and tactical brilliance, then fan-based chaos would easily ensue. Albums like these have a legacy to them that is indescribable in words; the music does the talking and people listen. If there was one common aspect about albums that are generally classified as masterpieces though, I assume it would be the ability of listeners to relate their own lives to the music, whether it is through the melodies, lyrical content, artwork, or all of them combined.

The debut release from Delay Trees boasts more than some attractive artwork. Apart from the excellent music (which I’ll get to in a bit) on Soft Construction EP, the Finnish four-piece have implemented an artistic component that reveals itself as both nostalgic and personally relatable even before one pops their disc in the stereo for the first time. Rami Vierula, the band’s songwriter and creative force, compiled photos from his family albums and decided to share a piece of his personal life with the listener; it is a technique that works very well with a sound that recalls the broodingly realistic fables told in shimmering ‘80s post-punk and the instrumental expansiveness present in contemporary indie-rock. Most of the photos consist of landscapes, but the shot behind the lyrics for “About Brothers” features a bunch of young males on a summer day with smiles that keenly express the carefree indulgences of youth. I cannot accurately say what the photo has in relation to Vierula’s personal life, but the song clearly is about the feelings of brothers that have drifted apart after childhood due to conventional excuses like marriage and conflicting interests. “I’m loving a robot – my brother has turned to steel,” Vierula sings over an enriching display of sporadic keys and distorted guitars. He likens robotic love to the childhood nostalgia of Japanese anime in the first verse, and in doing so establishes a direct relationship with his childhood self. Subsequently, when the track ends with a reaffirmation of an undying sense of familial love, the visible transition that Vierula made from childhood to adulthood is prevalent.

This correlation between artwork, lyrical content, and instrumentation is what makes Soft Construction EP so effective. The fact that it accomplishes this while being the first-ever release from this Finnish four-piece is impressive in itself, but the EP’s indication of what’s to come from Delay Trees serves as a hefty display of their songwriting ability, instrumental prowess, and thematic effectiveness. Vierula’s lyrics are often vague, using an assortment of hypothetical questions to construct a theme that does not come into focus until a song’s end. The slick “Moving” follows “About Brothers”, an appropriate transition considering the unified theme of both tracks. Like the eroding relationship between brothers in the latter, “Moving” capitalizes on the concept of time as an unparalleled force that can be the heaviest and most dramatic wrecking ball in destroying the stability of relationships. “I don’t want to see the time when I’ve lost my inner child along with my destinations,” Vierula sings in the first verse. Already, the longing for childhood and the yearning for experience is comparably balanced to that of “About Brothers.” A bouncy rhythm section gets this track going, as a series of guitar alternate between arpeggios and chordal accompaniments as Vierula works toward the eventual chorus. Vierula’s vocals recall those of Voxtrot’s Ramesh Srivastava with its light and airy demeanor, and the support of breezy melodies complement it beautifully. Their vein of indie-pop remains comparable to contemporaries like Voxtrot and The Shins, but a continued emphasis on ‘80s post-punk remains noticeable enough to make Delay Trees’ sound unique enough to shine.

The aptly titled “Coral Wind” serves as one of the mellower efforts on the album, in addition to the balmy, guitar-based beachside allure of “Replay.” The desperation for victory and fulfilled expectations stimulates “Coral Wind” and the collaborative effort between guitar arpeggios, chirpy reverb, and reverb that finds an enjoyable mid-point between psychedelia and surf-rock that eventually becomes prominent. The four-piece has a tendency for using bell-like keys to accentuate newly presented melodies, and “Coral Wind” is one of the finest examples with Vierula’s ooh-ing and aah-ing flourishing behind a series of acoustics, keys, and electric guitars. “Resurrection of Sonic Blue” hearkens back to David Axelrod with a bit of post-rock in the vein of Mogwai thrown in; it differs dramatically from all the other tracks on the EP, but does an excellent job of displaying both Vierula’s ability as a songwriter and the band’s cumulative sense of harmonic cohesiveness. “Tarantula / Holding On” shows how Delay Trees never appear to make one instrument overly prominent in a final mix, as the build-up here is presented in a way that sees each instrument gradually add on its unique tone and melodic progression to result in a grandiose conclusion that occurs during the concluding minute. I am shocked that Delay Trees have received such little press thus far in both their home country and overseas, but that should not last for long. Whether they choose to play for American, British, or Finnish audiences, their serenely melodic interpretation of indie-pop is fulfilling enough to achieve success wherever the four-piece chooses to take it.

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Delay Trees – About Brothers

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Delay Trees – Moving

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Delay Trees – Resurrection of Sonic Blue

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This month’s compilation actually serves as a fusion of December and January. My primary focus in December was the Best Albums of 2008 feature, so there were not enough featured artists to suffice for an entire compilation. With that being said, the interval of time between the last feature of December and first feature of January allowed me to efficiently find some fantastic new artists. Whether you fancy icy electro-pop, bluesy indie-rock, or Japanese post-rock, there should be something for everyone in here. Stylistic variety has always been an aspect of music that I have striven to feature, and I am happy to say that this compilation is indicative of that.

01. Fever Ray – Now’s the Only Time I Know (post)
02. Andre Ethier – Easiest Game (post)
03. Here We Go Magic – Fangela (post)
04. Marissa Nadler – Mary Comes Alive (post)
05. J. Tillman – Steel on Steel (post)
06. Timber Timbre – Lay Down in the Tall Grass (post)
07. Ball of Flame Shoot Fire – Mugs (post)
08. Cymbals Eat Guitars – Indiana (post)
09. Music Go Music – Light of Love (post)
10. Dan Auerbach – When the Night Comes (post)
11. The High Dials – My Heart Is Pinned to Your Heart (post)
12. Future Clouds and Radar – Feet on Grass (post)
13. 4 Bonjour’s Parties – Satellite (post)
14. The Western States Motel – Oh World (post)
15. Dreamend – If Only for a Day (post)

DOWNLOAD ENTIRE COMPILATION>>> (75.8 MB, .RAR)

The post Obscure Sound: Best of January 2009 appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

One of the many aspects of music that I have always found fulfilling relates to how influences have no cultural boundaries. While traditional music that holds some merit toward a country’s cultural values and historical contexts should be universally embraced, the fact that music has become a stylistic melting pot of sorts should convince cynics that musicians will never simply run out of ideas. Though the technological advances in worldwide communication are contributing to the rapid withdrawal of exclusively cultural lifestyles and beliefs, the advances in intercultural competence are becoming especially prevalent, thanks in part to the allocation of opinions regarding the developments of creating and listening to music. In this regard, cultural relativism seems to be becoming more abundant, at least in the sense that musical styles are overlapping more than ever. Virtually every prominent international artist is now at the fingertips of anyone with Internet access, as are many unrecognizable ones that would have been excited to merely get a mention in their own country, nonetheless one that is thousands of miles away. Over the past few years, I have done my best in exposing a wide variety of artists from all over the world, with one reason being that I feel everyone should be exposed to quality music regardless of its geographical origins. Another reason, though, is also rooted in the fact that I personally find artists who successfully mix both cultural and stylistic preferences to be genuinely fascinating.

If one were to sift through the Japanese on 4 Bonjour’s Parties‘ web site, it would be quite evident that the seven-piece are a perfect example of this culturally impartial ideology. Devoting a section on their site to an organized table that individually displays each of the band members’ instruments, influences, hobbies, and birthdays, the most immediately noticeable aspect of this band’s composure is the group’s cumulative multi-instrumental ability. Five of the seven are capable of playing three or more instruments, a rather indicative display of the group’s full-fledged sound. Upon further inspection though, what was most striking to me was their individualistic influences. Whether they chose to show their regard for American rock acts like Radiohead and Animal Collective, legendary French composers of the past in the vein of Serge Gainsbourg and Michel Legrand, or native Japanese artists like Sunny Day Service and Eiichi Ohtaki, the references were eclectic enough to make their audible talent not at all surprising. And as you can see, their influences derive from all over the world, being synonymous with their subtly ingenious style of play. Despite each member possessing a differing collection of favorite artists, the fact that all of their choices are within the same stylistic realm is one of the reasons for their very compelling sound. It can most certainly be attributed to a solid working relationship, one that is obviously productive considering the high degree of sheer success that their full-length debut delivers upon.

While the Tokyo-based septet appear willing to capitalize upon their sound of their influences – as broad as they may be – in a form that is cumulatively productive, some may initially feel inclined to call the group’s stylistic direction indecisive before giving them a listen. After all, how is a band expected to blend elements of contemporary indie-rock and post-rock, French orchestral pop, ‘60s psychedelia, and classic Japanese folk music into one cohesive album? Well, the only productive response to skepticism in this case is to create a style that is purely your own, and this is exactly what 4 Bonjour’s Parties did with their debut, Pigments Drift Down to the Brook. The album title proves to be startlingly appropriate, with the meshing of styles practically representing a variety of colors in themselves as they slowly collide and overlap to create something that the eyes (or the ears in this case) have never seen (or heard) before. Figurative guesswork aside, the presentation on Pigments Drift Down to the Brook simply has to be heard to get a true grasp of. The seven-piece somehow find a way to manage incorporating dozens of different forms of instrumentation – from guitars, bass, and percussion to brass, woodwinds, and samplers – to create something that is magnificently cohesive and dazzlingly gratifying.

With half of the ten songs on Pigments Drift Down to the Brook exceeding six minutes in length, duration is one of the reasons why 4 Bonjour’s Parties are able to craft such stylistically multifarious efforts with such seamlessness. They do not rush in demonstrating the expansion of their ideas, instead choosing to take their time with their ideas; it is one of the aspects that contributes to the overall success of the release. The progressively epic “Satellite” evolves in the first minute from a singular key progression to an extremely expansive accompaniment featuring a bustling rhythm and several simultaneous uses of woodwind instruments. When the woodwinds subside, the chorus enters and establishes a mood that is both tranquil and dramatically effective. Some very traditional high-pitched Japanese female vocals soon accompany the initial male lead vocals, forming an overlapping bundle of pure beauty that is complemented superbly by a gently intricate electric guitar arpeggio in the background. “I feel some confusion,” they sing together, a rather stark statement considering the remarkably layered sets of instrumentation that are behind them. From this point on, the song concludes in epic form, showcasing a brass or woodwind solo here and there to the occasional re-emergence of the aforementioned chorus. When it all settles down with the gentle croon of a saxophone over the dying patter of a reverbed drum, a realization concerning the track’s brilliance should arrive to even the most inattentive listener.

The equally beautiful “Ruins” sees a change in the lead vocalist, a common occurrence throughout the album as the group appears wisely willing to capitalize on having both a very capable male and female vocalist. Angelic females lead here, with the male vocals eventually being melodically reflective during the verses. She takes the chorus on her own though, backed by little more than a prominent bass line and a dynamically soothing guitar progression. The bridge then introduces a twinkle of keys as the male vocals re-emerge, preparing for round two of this stunning effort. It then follows a barren instrumental approach for a bit, with keys serving as the lead over the initial vocal melody. All of the instruments return in shared form though, and they do so in a way that allows the listener to remember just how many chills ran up their spine when hearing the track’s chorus for the first time. I personally consider “Satellite” and “Ruins” to showcase 4 Bonjour’s Parties at their absolute best, but tracks like the expansively exotic “Ksana” and the atmospheric free-jazz of “Otogima Horse” show that 4 Bonjour’s Parties have the potential to find success in a similar way to that of their influences: all over the world.

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4 Bonjour’s Parties – Satellite

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4 Bonjour’s Parties – Ruins

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4 Bonjour’s Parties – Ksana

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While it may be overly restrictive of most French radio stations to only allow songs containing at least 40% of the French language in their lyrical content to be permitted on air, I also suppose that individualizing yourself within a market full of national competition is also vital for keeping the diminishing business of non-satellite radio stations alive. With such a plethora of English-based pop music making its rounds everywhere from South America to Asia, there are certainly reasons why such a demanding focus is put in place on a language that is considered a country’s own. If anything, it almost seems like they are encouraging French artists to write songs in their native tongue, rather than capitalizing on the widespread appeal of English to make an even larger profit. But even when asking this, why would a hungry independent artist abandon the opportunity to make a profit from music that would deliver the same intended message whether it was spoken in French, English, Japanese, or Swahili? This is the question that most of these artists make before their decision, with both confidence and stylistic intentions playing a significant factor. For the most recent era of young French musicians who grew up in the ‘90s embracing music from all over the world, attempting to write songs in English is hardly a foreign cause.

In what appears to be in commendable fashion, the Paris-based Neimo were not after financial pursuits when they mutually decided to write their songs entirely in English. Instead, it was their style rooted mainly in classic rock ‘n’ roll that weighed most heavily on the group’s decision. “Rock is based on sweat, spontaneity and energy,” lead vocalist Bruno Alexandre explained. “Rock and roll was born in the United States.” The explanation is simple enough, as a goal toward accomplishing unconditional authenticity is a common one amongst artists rooted in the often all-too-common realm of contemporary rock music. And while their sound borrows plenty of soul and energy from the classic acts of the past, their additional grasp of modernized genres like synth-rock allows their entry into the more modernistic realm of music to be seamless and not overwrought or stylistically desperate. This slight issue in linguistics has caused their reception in France among promoters and record labels to be marginal, though it has certainly not proved to be an issue outside the borders. Shangri-La Music, a label located over 5000 miles away in Santa Monica, California, signed the energetic four-piece after listening to the potential of their previous material. This was primarily from their debut, From Scratch; it was an album that they were forced to self-release due to the lack of domestic attention they were receiving. Even listening to their lively earlier material, it is prevalent that the lack of interest was only rooted in the band’s desire to explore their rock ‘n’ roll side… what a shame.

Even with all of their songs being sung entirely in English, it is striking that such an aspect is not even the most glaring one that should sound familiar to American and British audiences. After all, many will argue that it is more difficult to master a genre of music than learn a language (music teachers and language teachers shall commence the scuffle). Instead, the four-piece capitalizes on both a very familiar style of Brit-rock and newly revived form of synth-rock to craft a sound that just seems to destined for most western airwaves outside of France’s restrictive channels. Packed full of energy, slick instrumentation, and stylistically cohesive methods of production, I would be surprised if at least one of the standouts on their excitable debut, Moderne Incidental, does not launch the band into a state of heightened national recognition. At this point for me, I believe that “Johnny Five” appears to be the best bet. Usually a vocalist with a sharp tendency for angsty reverberations, the transition that Alexandre makes during the outstanding chorus is one of triumphant elegance that is rare to find in the fused genre of Brit-pop and synth-rock. Backed by a lightly coordinated trickle of synths, the hook found during the chorus serves as one of the most memorable on the album. And remarkably enough, when it makes the suddent shift back to the grittier verse, it sounds neither disorganized nor out of place. Instead, it is a fine example of Neimo’s urge to be grouped outside of other conventional art-rock acts in admirable form.

The album’s opening track, “Can You Call Me?”, is more demonstrative of the group’s laudable guitar usage, primarily found during the mid-point in which a series of synths collide fluidly with a backing guitar solo that is both zealous and highly invigorating. The basis of the track itself is not the most melodically strong on the album, but the energy presented and overlapping of synths and guitars provide for a few of the most excitable moments you are likely to find from the young Parisians. For a more composed mood, “Something in Common” capitalizes on a series of rhythmically led verses to make comparisons to The Strokes abundant. As far as my personal favorite on the album goes though, I find “Lines” to be as successful as any attempt on the album. Alexandre brings back surprising comparisons to The Housemartins with a slight change in tone that is more resounding and crisply satisfying than anything else on the album. When they add their trademark complementary synth line in the midst of the track with an additional guitar progression, it adds to the song in more ways than one as he caps it off with a vocal-led finale that convinces the listener of the track’s sheer success in utterly infectious form.

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Neimo – Lines

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Neimo – Johnny Five

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Neimo – Can You Call Me?

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I tend to agree with Steve Reich on the subject of minimalism, a self-proposed genre whose label is borrowed more from a chronological standpoint than the actual musical content involved. As Reich claimed, it is merely a “convenient way” of classifying artists in the vein of himself, Philip Glass, and John Cage (among several others), all composers who use prevalent trademarks of unified minimalism such as focused repetition and melodic stagnation within a tone that is usually representative of classical or electronic music. Despite such glaring stylistic similarities, every prominent minimalist musician sounds remarkably different from one another in their artistic delivery, prompting Reich’s beliefs to be of a selflessly considerate nature. Considering that there are evident arguments against even the concept of a genre in the first place – with there being no middle-point between it being too open or pretentiously restricted – I suppose you could say this for most genres. Still, the amount of variation in a stripped-down style like minimalism nearly makes it all ironic, as not classifying something that can be so simultaneously complex and simplistic would draw up even more debate. As new artists look to capitalize on such stylistically tied influences, it only makes modernized sense for them to ignore the components of the past and attempt to tie in other elements that, while still largely unclassifiable, end up being more definitively involved.

Grouping Volker Bertelmann into any of the above aforementioned categories would be a crime, as Reich would likely agree. The German musician utilizes a variety of components that are reminiscent of accustomed minimalism, though his additional involvement of elements involving pop, jazz, and even electronica causes his eclectic approach to make a singular classification irrelevant, especially in the world of minimalism. I suppose that grouping him into a form of modern avant-garde classical music would be broad enough to support him, though even that may be too linear. Going under the alias of Hauschka, Bertelmann has been releasing material on the Berlin-based Karaoke Kalk label since 2004. Two of his first releases, Substantial and The Prepared Piano, were released respectively in 2004 and 2005, exhibiting Bertelmann’s potential and glaring talent as a composer but failing to generate much buzz. Both albums saw generally simplistic songs being played within a complex method of playing known as “prepared piano”. By placing a variety of objects like aluminum paper, guitar strings, and wedges of leather in certain places on the instrument, consequently altering the mechanical aspect while steering toward a new melodic approach. The objects vary drastically, and choosing what and how to use it is part of the art itself. The modifications emitted an unconventional sound that varied in use, from a corroded to vibrant sensation. These effects could end up spurring anything from a rhythmic accompaniment to a melodic transition, all engineered by Bertelmann’s keen sense of musicianship.

While Bertelmann is certainly not the creator of the “prepared piano” method (19th century French composer Erik Satie is often credited with that, in addition to John Cage and Henry Cowell for its contemporary revival), his innovative approach within the style makes it impressive nonetheless. Despite the impressive methodical nature of The Prepared Piano, it was not until 2007 – when Bertelmann released Room to Expand – that he started to draw recognition and widespread critical acclaim. A generally stripped-down affair consisting of solo recordings and electronic overdubs, the album was adored enough to launch Bertelmann on a variety of tours that stretched from the US (with Múm) to Japan (with Colleen). He also played a few shows with Max Richter, a previously featured fellow German composer who is in a similar stylistic realm to Bertelmann. Considering the high level of acclaim that Room to Expand deservedly garnered, a grin comes to my face when thinking about how well its follow-up, Ferndorf, is going to be received. In terms of both method and content, it is a considerably more expansive release that sees Bertelmann at his creative peak, at least so far. The most noticeable transition is Bertelmann’s involvement with strings, as he enlisted the cellist duo of Insa Schirmer and Donja Djember to make the overall feel more cohesive.

The album’s title, Ferndorf, translates to “distant village”, a reference to a village in central Germany where Bertelmann grew up before moving to Cologne. Several of the tracks reflect on Bertelmann’s loving relationship with nature, a feeling that has been eroded as people increase in age and lose their touch with innocence. The village allowed him to experience nature in a wholesome form, with this childhood experience being the basis for the entire album. Most of the tracks were named after such natural entities too; “Rode Null” refers to a mountain that was situated behind Bertelmann’s parents’ house, “Freibad” speaks of a body of water located in a nearby forest, and the improvised “Morgenrot” is a reference to a window in his former bedroom that embraced the rising sun each morning. In addition to “Morgenrot”, several other tracks were also completely improvised, notably “Blue Bicycle”, “Alma”, “Nadelwald”, and “Neuschnee”. With its catchy lead piano melody and initial brooding strings, a track like “Freibad” is distinctive and precise enough to be recognized as an intricately engineered work, but Bertelmann’s improvised songs actually resonate with the same artistry and sense of committment. In fact, his sense of adventure is often expanded, as is shown on excellent tracks like “Blue Bicycle” and “Weeks of Rain”, a melancholic closer named after the rainy climates of Ferndorf.

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Hauschka – Freibad

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Hauschka – Blue Bicycle

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Hauschka – Weeks of Rain

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Side projects are an aspect of music that has gradually allowed artists to explore different scenarios, both in a stylistic and collaborative vein, without as much habituated pressure for decades. Considering that many successful ones are derived from a previous project that has already seen a considerable degree of success, the amount of hype often reduces due to the audience’s inability to confidently assume what it will sound like. Whether the side project proves to be a giant jump of ambition or simply in the mold stylistic continuance, the artist can revert to both a new sound and finalized mindset without the press bashing the final result as a result of jumping the shark. It allows the artists more flexibility, consequently resulting in something that may fare out even better than their original project. The list of successful side projects is quite sprawling, with names like Gorillaz, Broken Social Scene, and The Postal Service all coming to mind as a recent few that have seen a magnitude of success. While the members of the self-proclaimed “side project” Faded Paper Figures do not have the past accolades of a Damon Albarn or Ben Gibbard at hand for effortless exposure, the classification alone may have made the stylistic transition that much more seamless.

Like all those confident enough to classify a new expenditure as a side project, the three members of Faded Paper Figures have all had experience in other bands. Multi-instrumentalist Kael Alden also heads Robot Repair, a music studio and production company that serves as his day job. While there, he wrote a song that eventually ended up on a Lexus commercial. Considering that I do not watch much television at all and I have seen it several times, I imagine that it will be strangely familiar for many people (check it out here). As Kael states in his own YouTube comments, the full-length version of the untitled track “should be available for free download any day now”. But let us return the focus to his band, Faded Paper Figures. They also have material set to debut this week, an album by the name of Dynamo. Alongside Alden’s impressive multi-instrumental electronic chops, R. John Williams takes helm of vocals and guitars. Alden’s wife, Heather, rounds out the group in providing some excellent backing vocals, an aspect that is vital toward crafting several of the most accomplished moments on Dynamo. Featuring 12 tracks of devilishly clever electronic pop, Dynamo will be self-released through the band’s Shorthand Records in the U.S. and through Rallye Records when it hits the shores of Japan.

In the vein of any successful side project, Faded Paper Figures capitalizes on the most prevalent talents of each member involved. Williams’ vocals are soothingly appropriate when set to the backdrop of Kael Alden’s synthesized melodies, with Heather’s angelic backing vocals providing just the right amount of harmonic diversity. Kael’s electronic approach is eclectic, providing glimpses of arpeggiated progressions that are enjoyably supplemented by concisely effective percussive samples and riveting synth-bass lines. Williams’ gentle croon and acoustical accompaniments cause comparisons to The Postal Service and The Notwist to be ubiquitous, also sounding occasionally like Stars as well (if they had no access to strings). A similar electro-pop ideology is present though, with the expansive style allowing for plenty of uniquely memorable moments on Faded Paper Figures’ impressive debut. The release is striking from the get-go, with “North by North” serving as a richly enjoyable opener that illustrates each member’s unique capabilities to the fullest. Kael Alden’s electronic arrangements never prove overwhelming though, with the accessibility of “North by North” solidifying such a sentiment. The track and methodical approach remain highly infectious, with the trickles of higher-pitched synths during the chorus contrasting nicely with the emergence of Heather Alden’s caressing vocals. “You said a long long time ago, you were happy being someone,” she sings during the chorus as a tinge of brass incorporates itself into her husband’s swirling electronic arrangement. With a touch of evident desperate romanticism, “North by North” is a thoroughly pleasing track.

“Logos” is a track that sees Williams’ guitar usage appear considerably dominant, even if the progression is initially nothing more than a looped succession. The approach eventually works well though as the progression evolves into an expendable structural component that glides seamlessly over Alden’s accentuated synth and rhythmic arrangements, once again uplifted by a chorus that sees Williams and Heather Alden execute a fluttering duet. “Polaroid Solution” sees minimalist electronica accompanied by Alden’s trickling synth lines, with an increase in vocal intensity being initiated by a variation in instrumental intricacy. The futurist musings of “Metropolis” succeed similarly, employing a familiar technological focus over Alden’s topically appropriate musical approach. “Now information without flesh means your body’s just a drive,” both vocalists sing, “Loading up with life and death: the after-human has arrived.” The topic has been reiterated time and time again, but the trio of Faded Paper Figurines provide additional depth to technological rampancy with their infectious melodic engineering and wisely executed vocal harmonies. While it is one feat to create music for a successful commercial that has generated many views based on the music alone, Dynamo is a different type of accomplishment that shows all members of the California-based trio working with great precision to mold a sound that sounds neither generic nor repetitive. Side project or not, Faded Paper Figures’ debut is one not to miss.

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Faded Paper Figures – North by North

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Faded Paper Figures – Metropolis

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Faded Paper Figures – Logos

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Ambition can play an interesting role in an artist’s production of their own music, especially during a dramatic period of stylistic transition. It sounds like common sense, but if one were to intricately shuffle through an influential artist’s entire discography, it would likely not prove very difficult to identify an ambitious peak. That being said, a high level of ambition does not always equate to success. Using a few commercially successful artists as an example: For every critically acclaimed classic like the sprawling White Album, there is usually something like Metal Machine Music that has warranted bashing since its release over 30 years ago. Both albums were considered ambitious peaks for The Beatles and Lou Reed, respectively, at the time but, while no one doubts Reed as being one of the greatest American songwriters of the late 20th century, the vision clearly did not work out for him in the instance of Metal Machine Music. Reed followed the disaster up with arguably his greatest album, Coney Island Baby, to immediately soothe concerns, consequently causing some to claim that the flawed nature of Metal Machine Music indirectly contributed to the success of Coney Island Baby. It is certainly a valid suggestion, if only for the fact that an artist’s level of ambition is something of a delicate nature that needs to be treated with care. In Reed’s case, past experience and failure likely led to him prevailing successfully one year later.

During its 8 year run, Moon Gringo established itself as one of the premiere indie-rock bands to come out of Denmark. Readers based out of the US and UK may scratch their heads at the name, but the six-piece saw substantial success in Denmark and several surrounding European countries due to a sound that was immediately infectious and satisfyingly accessible; take a listen to an excellent live version of “Mette Says No” on their MySpace for a great example of the energy and quality songwriting they conveyed during their run. One of the band’s leaders was a man by the name of Anders Rhedin, a songwriter who had a clear vision of success for the indie-rock sextet. Moon Gringo may not have been the most innovative group on the block, but their energy and irresistible array of hooks left few listeners hungry for more. Still, as a songwriter, Rhedin’s ambition began to get a hold of him. A fan of rock music all his life, he cut out the genre and started acquainting himself with a more diverse selection of music. “You know, I stopped reading music magazines, and stopped listening to indie rock,” Rhedin said in an interview. “I cut out what I had been listening to since forever, which was like European music and American music of the last 30 years.” He certainly holds no grudges against rock music, but after opening his mind up to a more eclectic set of composers, he grew and matured as a songwriter himself.

Influenced by composers as diverse as Arvo Part and Steve Reich, Rhedin recently formed Jong Pang in an effort to explore his increased diversity as a songwriter. “That was the idea behind Jong Pang: I wanted to see what Steve Reich would sound like if he was a rock band,” he explains. “I love the way that as soon as you listen to Steve Reich, a whole universe opens up, but if you just listen with one ear, it’s nothing.” With Jong Pang’s debut album, Bright White Light, Rhedin has successfully built a universe that coincides nicely with his own description of Reich’s expansive works. However, instead of toying with minimalism, Rhedin has remained within the realm of pop music, only this time with a boastful array of worldly influences that cause the final result to be unpredictable, engrossing, and wholesomely fascinating. Fans of Moon Gringo saw Rhedin’s undeniable skills as a songwriter nearly a decade ago, but Jong Pang marks the moment in which he has evolved and lived up to a considerable amount of potential. Rhedin serves as the brains behind Bright White Light but he also enlists the help of several other talented Danish musicians, a collection of over a dozen collaborators in which he entitles “The Jong Pang Collective”. The collective of collaborators also includes ex-Moon Gringo member Mette Hersoug.

With Rhedin’s diversified abilities as a songwriter fluidly coinciding with a group of collaborators who appear startlingly adept on both an instrumental and vocal level, Bright White Light is more than just an audible example of Rhedin’s growth as a songwriter. With instantly accessible gems like “New Order” and “Small Cut Sensations” leading the way, Rhedin manages to incorporate world influences within a style that remains generally accessible and never stylistically overbearing. The vocal performances on the album vary in both tone and gender, with Rhedin and others lending a leading role on a variety of songs. “New Order” sees a male-female duet emerge under the wispy undercurrent of a synth pad and guitar progression. A serene opening evolves into a distorted flurry of hectic rhythmic involvement and dynamic guitars, eventually backed by a choir-like sound that penetrates the barrier of sound nicely. “New order, you build a new order,” the vocals repeat, appropriately embracing independence as something of a spiritually empowering entity. “Small Cut Sensations” is a very rewarding track that combines exotically invigorating Japanese strings with a rhythm section that vigorously builds its way to success. Similarly laced female vocals are the lead here, being at their best after an acoustical bridge laces together the intensified string arrangement during the track’s concluding moments. With other highlights including the tinge of post-punk tremolo on “Free”, a shoegaze influence on “Scream Cikada, She’s Home”, and the epic build-up in “You Are the Battle: Tender”, there is not one wasted moment on the diversely impressive Bright White Light.

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Jong Pang – Small Cut Sensations

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Jong Pang – New Order

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Jong Pang – Free

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When the producers of “Jesus’ Son” were looking to add some additional ardency to their 1999 film, they enlisted the help of songwriter Max Avery Lichtenstein. The film, set in the early ‘70s, featured a wide array of characters depicting prevailing, melancholic, and somber circumstances. The fixture on emotional variability proved to be a challenge for Lichtenstein, as he had to create an original soundtrack that complemented the diverse moods well. He succeeded though, viewing the experience as a n indication to expand upon his exhibited potential as a songwriter. Consequently, he pursued life as a solo artist by forming Camphor after his composition work for “Jesus’ Son” was completed. Working with friend Jason Russo of Hopewell, the name was based on a variety of oddly descriptive things. “It seemed to evoke all the right things,” Lichtenstein explains. “Flashes of old and precious treasures stored away in the dark corners of a forgotten steamer truck; dusty moth wings; chemical concoctions; a strong and penetrating sensory experience… it touched a nerve in my little heart and I’ve been writing under the name ever since.” Back to reality, camphor is actually a substance that is used as a moth repellent, a form of embalming the dead, and for medicinal purposes, but Lichtenstein’s project looks to become one of the more recognizable definitions of the multifarious word in the near future.

If Lichtenstein’s name sounds somewhat familiar, you may recognize him as a producer and collaborator for artists that include Mercury Rev, Beirut, and the previously reviewed Silent League. Based out of North Salem, New York, Lichtenstein released his debut album, Drawn to Dust, on Friendly Fire Recordings in April to a variety of critical acclaim. Despite his foray into the world of indie music, Lichtenstein has remained busy with some film-related works; he composed the soundtracks for the movies “The King” and “Home Front”, both independent films that have been released in the past 3 years. As for Lichtenstein’s new album, the first single, “Castaway”, has already garnered a good amount of attention. Apart from being a very fun track in itself, the music video is very striking and shows Lichtenstein’s cinematic prowess in his ability to fuse audible and visual elements together seamlessly. Making an array of artificial characters as innovatively lifelike as possible, the video appropriately depicts the retelling of a “classic siren myth”, with the most amusing aspect being the performances by a cast of PLAYMOBIL toys. The five-piece is currently preparing to embark on an European tour for the end of the year, featuring a run of dates that will coincide with the European release of the album.

Lichtenstein supposedly wrote Drawn to Dust focused around a ideology called wabi sabi, a Japanese conceptual belief that true greatness exists in the inconspicuous details of our world and true beauty can only be discovered in life’s imperfections. Featuring a rich display of instruments that include strings, mariachi horns, and woodwinds over constantly revolving arrangements, Drawn to Dust is certainly not an inconspicuously minimal affair, making the ideology correspond more to the melodic expansion presented on the more worthwhile efforts. This is best demonstrated on the stunning “The Sweetest Tooth”, a track that shows Lichtenstein’s talents as both an an aspiring pop artist and relatively accomplished film composer. The chorus sports a grand spectacle of vigorous strings and clashing bells intertwined with clamorous percussion, providing a thematic outlook based on the sheer instrumental grandiosity alone. The verses appear more in typical singer-songwriter format, with Lichtenstein providing his soothing vocals over a comforting swirl of keys and strings. His vocals fall somewhere between the abstruse stylings of Jim Morrison, Mark Eitzel, and Nick Cave, though the latter comes more naturally due to Camphor’s similarly blended style. For a style that is so intricately processed and emotionally resounding, the deep and elastic tone of Lichstenstein’s voice fits perfectly.

Like “The Sweetest Tooth”, “Castaway” shows off Lichtenstein’s cinematic chops in excellent form. The spaghetti western twang of the guitar with the infused backing of a marimba will create immediate comparisons to Ennio Morricone, though Lichtenstein’s inarguable grasp of pop music also makes such comparisons useful only for spotting out influences. Thanks to his simultaneous usage of cinematic and pop elements, Lichtenstein’s work proves to be original and consistently enthralling. As for songs that exhibit his chops as a pop songwriter entirely, the serene pace of the organ-led “Immolation” is an enjoyable effort in the middle of Drawn to Dust that proves quite reminiscent of American Music Club’s somber successes. Also, despite featuring an orchestral accompaniment that is nearly as majestic as “The Sweetest Tooth”, “Deconstructed” is a notable track that very well may be the album’s second single if “The Sweetest Tooth” is somehow passed over. Featuring a plethora of correlated brass and strings, Lichtenstein’s vocals shift impressively with each melodic transition as they build up toward a stylistically enlightening chorus. With the majority of Drawn to Dust exhibiting the same impressive formula, it is highly recommended for being one of the more polished and consistent debuts of the year so far.

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Camphor – The Sweetest Tooth

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Camphor – Castaway

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Camphor – Deconstructed

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