Describing an Of Montreal show is like setting the scene for a circus. Literally. The amount of cartoonish yet elaborate characters, the band-built set of props, the whirlwind of energy… it is difficult to pinpoint which component of the performance merits the most mention. When it comes down to it though, like the mark of any great band, it is the music that keeps people going. For a band like Of Montreal, their set is not an illusion designed to compensate for sub-par music. Neither is frontman Kevin Barnes’ energy, which is the quite opposite of a facade and a vocal part of his music whether on stage or not. So when I saw them for the first time on Saturday night, I was not surprised by the festival-like atmosphere. I knew that would be there. What stunned me was a remarkably tight performance that somehow managed to take the best parts of the band’s music and their renowned stage presence, both of which are anything but subtle. Such immaculate management prevented an overflowing of ideas, which is always possible considering the band’s lofty scope. Fans were treated to quality with no pretentious showmanship.

The success of their performance on Saturday night, the second of a two-night stint at Terminal 5, is no surprise to fans. When you have an opener like Janelle Monáe, who is successfully attaining fame in both independent and mainstream circles, it is hard to have doubts. The little that I caught of her set was excellent, and her re-emergence during the phenomenal “Enemy Gene” later in the night brought emphatic cheering from an audience that were thankful to be given an opener that sounded like a headliner. This occurred about mid-way through Of Montreal’s setlist, which to my delight was culled heavily from their new album, False Priest (review here), and my favorite, Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? (review here). Barnes and co. were able to seamlessly navigate their way around a setlist that, despite their striking stylistic similarities (like Barnes’ falsetto or a funk-heavy rhythm section), contained appropriate variations in tempo and mood.

A rendition of “Casualty of You” was a surprising entry in the midst of jolted dance-friendly efforts like “Godly Intersex” and “Girl Named Hello”, which was accompanied with dancers in pig masks who proceeded to grind it up with Barnes. Yet, they all maintained synchronization even as breathing room got thinner. As the sole ballad-like track on False Priest, “Casualty of You” fit naturally with songs from the same album despite its emotional distance. Barnes’ piano-driven delivery reached believable authenticity despite the more vivacious preceding efforts, which was played with expected mastery by longtime members Bryan Poole, Dottie Alexander, and others. Barnes stole the show’s visual factor, but the music was a collaborative tour-de-force that contained the tightness and infectiousness demanded from funk-heavy efforts.

Performances of “Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider” and “She’s a Rejector” reminded me how wonderful Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? was. Even though Barnes is three years past the divorce that plagued him to write many of the exceptional but forlorn efforts on Hissing Fauna, the same intensity was there as if it happened yesterday. It is questionable whether an audience should enjoy an artist’s suffering, so perhaps these tracks sounded bouncier and more fluid than usual because the issue is not as sensitive. Or maybe it is simply that the band was on their game. The intro to “Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider” focused on some very interesting glitch-pop, while “She’s a Rejector” retained the same successful anthem-against-heartbreak feel as it did three years ago. These songs were fantastic additions to the False Priest-heavy set, showing more alt-rock and electro-rock than funk but achieving a similar degree of irresistible uniqueness.

These earlier efforts had little dependence on the set or scenery, which Barnes described to Spinner as being a very collaborative effort: “It’s like we’re an art collective, in a way,” he said. “Everyone in the band is contributing, everyone is the crew is contributing and this is very collaborative experience for all of us. Our bass player is responsible for building 85 percent of the props we’re going to use on tour. My brother designed all of them. All of us are involved in filming all the video content.” Seeing as how tightly involved the band’s music was, it is not surprising to see that this was a mutual effort. Barnes may steal the show on more occasions than one, but it is clear that the Georgia-based collective are blessed with additional talent beyond their enigmatic frontman.

For a tour that has seemingly been developed like an elaborate film, with costumes and sets taking the entire summer to create, it certainly lived up to expectations. I am not sure how Barnes had enough time to write a great album like False Priest AND help organize an intricate tour like this, but that is beside the fact. The band put on an exceptional show that was lively but also somewhat grounded, featuring a very accessible setlist (for Of Montreal’s standards) and not straying too far from it, apart from a few admirable Michael Jackson covers to close the night. I recommend that you listen to False Priest, fall in love with it, and check to see if the band is coming somewhere near you. If not, it is one of those tours you will regret missing a year from now.

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Of Montreal – Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider

Of Montreal – Coquet Coquette

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Merely a few months after I started this site, I deemed an album by Beach House to be “the most atmospherically beautiful debut of the year.” Although slightly rough around the edges, their debut showed a band on the brink of something special. This was back in 2006, and seeing the Baltimore-based duo grow into the masterminds behind the stunning Teen Dream has further convinced me of their rare maturity. With this, multi-instrumentalist Alex Scally and vocalist/organist Victoria Legrand may in fact have taken one of the largest leaps in music over the past several years, which is all the more respectable considering they did not significantly alter their style or image. True success is measured by sincerity and talent, so it would make little sense to toy with other genres if one is intent in their ways and already critically acclaimed. Beach House’s 2008 follow-up, Devotion, realized just this and decided to evolve from the debut as opposed to turning over a new leaf. An insatiable hunger for success, while artistically healthy, can be detrimental in its approach if it results in unnatural stylistic hesitation. Beach House’s third album, Teen Dream, is remarkable not only because of its sheer quality and consistency, but also in its willingness to stick with what Beach House are most natural at doing.

The word “natural” is often used objectively in the sciences, but in the arts it tends to pertain to an indescribable feeling garnered by witnessing both sincerity and skill from an artist. When something fits superbly in music, we tend to describe the effect as providing a “natural flow” or the artist as being “a natural”. The question then is, do so-called naturals improve their skills, acquire new ones, or do both? Teen Dream answers this in an interesting manner. Beach House have maintained their original sound, but modifications in production make their music more vividly effective than ever. There are is more emphasis on instrumental variety, crisper sounding production, and an exuberant confidence that results in monumental success, all while sounding distinctively like the duo we already know and love. There is still a sense of enjoyable ambiguity surrounding the duo though, mainly attributed to Legrand’s uniquely powerful vocals. Her voice is very fascinating in this release, emitting more confidence than on any of their prior albums. She finds rare pitch in her voice that is not relative to male or female, which is so remarkably unique that some first-time listeners may have no clue who is singing.

Beach House have always been associated with subtle brilliance, which is what Teen Dream applies well. The opening track, “Zebra”, is reminiscent of old Beach House tracks like “Saltwater” where brilliantly constructed mood reigned most. The chorus itself is not capable of much variation, unlike the explosive choruses in “Walk in the Park” or “Better Times”, but it remains a very strong effort. It does well to establish a new methodology for the group, which clearly involves crisper and less rigid efforts that rely less on droning reverb and more on melody and instrumentation. It is not waving its arms in your face, but “Zebra” quietly plays like a gem of an opener with the warmth of Legrand’s mixing cohesively with Scally’s guitar tremolos to create a trademark Beach House performance. Singles like “Used to Be” and “Norway” are richer in their sound and instrumental intricacy, specifically in the backing vocal harmonics used in “Norway” over the quickly paced guitar arpeggio. The backing vocals are very light and caressing, which makes the arrival of Legrand’s leading voice as a musky and powerful enigma that much better. “Don’t you know it’s true,” she sings, dragging out the “true” with her vocal versatility to touch nearly every pitch on the scale. The melodic variation on each track is also breathtaking; it is usually heard in the last minute or so of every track. When “Norway” succumbs to an alternate bridge in its final minute it is one of the many chills this album will place upon your spine. Like the sudden shift in the organ’s melody during the conclusion of “Lover of Mine”, the transition is so welcomed because of its precise and valuable addition.

“Lover of Mine” is fascinating specifically in Legrand’s revolving array of organs, which seems to alternate as the lead with slight percussion and muted guitar chords. The lead organ that appears in the chorus certainly has a Far Eastern vibe, making comparisons could the funk-soul experiments of Chaka Khan or the dreamy pop of Fleetwood Mac pretty agreeable. Either way, the dominance of organs and wistful melodic lore is strongly reminiscent of the ’80s synth-pop movement that momentarily took hold of the mainstream. As far as the latter comparison goes, vocal resemblances to Stevie Nicks are bound to spread with Legrand’s increased accentuation and variation throughout Teen Dream. Their pitch and emission of hooks differ dramatically, but both vocalists’ deliveries pack a stellar punch that rides on quivering seductiveness and complementary harmonics. All surprising variations are welcome, like when an entirely new organ arrangement emerges in “Lover of Mine” to masterfully conclude an effort that succeeds in both heartfelt nostalgia and contemporary relevance. The track itself is illustrative of lust and youthful fun in which consequences are of no concern. It finds a suitable reprieve between the tragic “Used to Be” and the more optimistic “Better Times”, suggesting that Teen Dream encompasses more thematic depth than it may initially let on.

Few want to listen to a break-up album past high school, but Teen Dream is a different type of ordeal. As the title may suggest, the album interprets the feelings of unparalleled triumph and obliterated desires from the perspective of one in the process of maturation. Two of the strongest Beach House efforts to date, “Walk in the Park” and “Better Times”, showcase this beautifully. The former is awashed in a shoegaze-like glow, accentuated by glistening keyboard tremolos and graceful guitar licks. This also appears as the strongest vocal performance of Legrand’s career, which is saying quite a bit. The repeating keyboard melody only makes her presence more prominent and important. She alternates between a psychedelically subdued chorus and anthemic chorus of soaring synths in a way that leaves me in awe, particularly because her variation is breathtakingly precise. Scally has a lot of fantastic ideas throughout the album like this and Legrand coordinates perfectly with them, producing a truly collaborative effort that relied on the creative genius of both members. “Better Times” is just as perfect, its inspiration being somewhat rooted in John Lennon’s Imagine with its delicate, Eastern-inspired vein of pop. Their complementary effects of these two absolutely gorgeous songs creates for great thematic tension; “Walk in the Park” values true love over all material possessions, while “Better Days” appears as the re-acquisition of this ideology after finding greener pastures.

Despite the success of every track on the album, some tracks fall shorter than others. “10 Mile Radio” is more a display of vocal power than songwriting brilliance, the latter of which most of the songs on Teen Dream have. This one seems to stutter a bit, complemented by a somewhat disappointing chorus containing a screeching synth and muted arpeggios. It has plenty of mood and anguish with Legrand’s vocals generating a demanding presence over Scally’s subtle instrumentation, but never catches up to its initial potential. Beach House have the ability to make anything sound good, even an untuned piano, so faults like these are purely through comparative songwriting. The last three songs on the album appear to emphasize the lyrical construction of the album; “Real Love” singularly employs the same piano progression for most of the song and the beautiful “Take Care” is similarly coherent in its glow of ascending synths. “10 Mile Radio” and “Real Love” are the only hiccups to speak of though, and this is just in comparison to the other spectacles of brilliance on the album. It must be hard to be a decent track on an album full of outstanding ones.

Beach House’s Teen Dream does the same thing that Animal Collective’s Merriweather Post Pavillion did to the 2009’s year in muic. Being one of the few music masterpieces of the decade, it set a climate of high expectations for the following year. Whether or not 2010 will live up to the towering Teen Dream remains the question, but what is certain is the legitimacy of Beach House’s newest as the first truly great album of the 2010s. Calling something a masterpiece always seems premature, and this stunning album’s fate will tell of that. But when looking at the sheer consistency, stylistic beauty, and pure awe-inspiring skill put into Teen Dream, I would be shocked if its fate was any different.

RIYL: Mazzy Star, Slowdive, Spiritualized, Grizzly Bear, Fleetwood Mac, John Lennon, St. Vincent, Girls, Broadcast, A Sunny Day in Glasgow, Vivian Girls

9.5/10.0

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Beach House – Walk in the Park

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Beach House – Better Times

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Beach House – Norway

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When projects attempt to be conceptual in both their style and purpose, there arises a sensitive area where criticism has difficulty retreating from the subjective to the objective. What we define as “quality” is premeditated by our own personal taste and is primarily subjective, but a release can also reach a consensus of inarguable quality and influence that gravitates more toward the objective. This almost always occurs quite some time after the initial release, for the term “instant-classic” is rarely used properly and often exaggerated when done so. If you wish to listen to The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble, you are probably going to have to leave any of these subjective perceptions of quality at the door. You cannot compare anything definitive to this project, another brainchild of the ceaselessly active and multifarious Jason Köhnen. He is best known for Bong-Ra, another project of his since 1996 that has emerged as one of the most respectable sources of quality breakcore, which is basically a fancy name for industrialized techno with heavy percussion and samples at high tempos. Most of his projects possess these obnoxiously non-descriptive names like breakcore, but he is obviously not to blame. In fact, when you are as constantly innovative as Köhnen, listeners have no choice but to make up sub-genres in order to express what tickles their fancy.

It is always easy to cover an artist that fits generic words like “breezy indie-pop” or “tender acoustics”, but when using these terms without further clarification it tends to be an indicative of lacking originality. Perhaps this is why I am lost when attempting to concisely describe The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble, as their swirling assortment of influences and stylistic directions allow the listener to take a full-bodied ride into unchartered territory with touches of jazz, post-rock, electronica, and IDM without being too overwhelming. The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble formed in 2000 out of mutual admiration for silent filmmakers that used powerful music to convey raw emotion in synchronization with visual content, an interesting influence since this concept is often lost in modern film-making for special effects and generic instrumental covers. Notable influences included F.W. Murnau, Fritz Lang , and even somewhat contemporary works by the likes of Jan Švankmajer (check out his 1988 stop-motion interpretation of Alice in Wonderland for some cool stuff). The members of The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble were so enthused by the passion of these filmmakers that Köhnen and co. began composing scores to already existent films, arranging soundtracks to the classic likes of Nosferatu and Metropolis in order to hone their experience in the most unique way possible.

As a true pursuer of stylistic ambitiousness, such tactics are hardly a surprise for followers of Köhnen. There is no method or style that seems beyond his reach. Bong-Ra played with everything from dance-rave to avant-garde jazz, a feat that was diverse enough to receive acclaim from the likes of John Peel (who included him as one of the 125 best Peel sessions ever). I admittedly find breakcore to be a frustrating genre, often sounding cluttered due to repetitive tempo or lack of melody altogether, but Köhnen’s work tends to appeal more to the majority despite his distinctively avant-garde leanings. Although his layers may have occasionally been too complex or his ideas overly thematic to grasp, Bong-Ra showcased a variety of genres like hip-hop and jazz that did not abide by breakcore’s very specific classification. In comparison to this, Köhnen’s new foray with The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble is more straightforward, but also packs more of an emotional punch than any of his earlier material. Whereas his previous work would have sounded best at a rave party, this work with The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble instead sounds like the ambiance of Hades, where contemplative sorrow is displayed more than impulsive excitement. The dramatic alteration in mood is one notable aspect of the transition to Köhnen’s new project, and it is not the only one either.

The stunning parts of The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble’s third album, Here Be Dragons, are abundant, but not in the instantaneously infectious sort of way many are used to. Keep in mind that this is the same sort of stuff that World’s End Girlfriend have done so well, where full-blown orchestras combine with jazz percussion to craft audible worlds that are bleak, serene, and chilling. Too in-depth to serve as a film soundtrack, the works of these artists are often overlooked due to the sheer complexity and scope of the project. The beautiful “Embers” is one of the more concise efforts on the album, but it still builds with collapsing thunder as brass, horns, and the ghostly vocals of Charlotte Cegarra evolve into both vocal-led emissions of fury and smoothly presented saxophone solos. The diversity on tracks like these throughout the album is absolutely extraordinary, a true landmark achievement even for an artist as eclectically inclined as Köhnen. “Embers” almost has that sort of ethereal, crystal-y feel to it that is reminiscent of Air’s Moon Safari days, especially in the way Beth Hirsch sent chills up listener’s spines on “All I Need” with her fragile croon. The parallel between the somber and free-fleeting moments of “Embers” are the best parts; the brass solos and detached vocal additions are juggled masterfully.

It would be acceptable if the rest of the album sounded like “Embers”, but any fans of the Utrecht-based Köhnen know that it is his tendency to mix things up. “Sirocco” is an amiable effort with the initial giddiness of Afro-pop keys making one of those oh-so-brilliant Köhnen mood transitions. Cegarra’s vocals appear alongside the strings, which sound very thick and reverb-heavy over a haunting melody that already portrays darker elements on its own. The percussion here is certainly influenced by his earlier works, as the industrial feel is heavily prevalent in both that and the backing atmospheric pads. “Mists of Krakatoa”, while lacking the general passion of the other two tracks, is exceptional for its sheer curiosity in blending Cegarra’s operatically inclined vocals again with strings, except unlike in “Sirocco” they collide here with a piano in minor key and the backing whirring of what faintly sounds like machines at work. This is less structurally cohesive than the others, like the fantastic opener “Lead Squid” or plucked goodness of “Caravan!”, but still retains its value through innovative sophistication and cumulative emotional expression. Some tracks on Here Be Dragons may take too long in their introduction or conclusion, but in their climaxes they will convey a type of innovation and musicianship that stands out even among the avant-garde.

RIYL: World’s End Girlfriend, Portishead, the later and more experimental years of Talk Talk

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The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble – Embers

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The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble – Sirocco

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The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble – Mists of Krakatoa

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Continuing with the stream of CMJ-bound artists, The Library are a bit different from what many expect at a festival of CMJ’s often frenetic vein. Often popular for artists that tout theatrical art-rock, synth-pounding dance-pop, or other forms of danceable bliss with high tempos, the audience at CMJ may initially be startled to hear this Brooklyn five-piece’s serene interpretation of folk. Deriving members from The Mayflies USA and The Comas, The Library draw most prominently from influences of ’70s. Neil Young’s more reflective material (On the Beach) is one of them, as are others that were precursors to the psyche-folk movement of the ’70s. The Library tend to integrate these influences with retrospective views of ’90s alternative-rock, even if the components are so subtle that only committed fans of certain artists could recognize them. Maybe it was how bands in the vein of Slowdive, Ride, and Spiritualized collided defiant alternative-rock with reverb-heavy doses of ’70s pop and folk, resulting in a path between shoegaze and nostalgic pop that established such artists as the most effective of the ’90s. Either way, The Library are safely following a similar path in attaining success through manipulating our perceptions of a style or genre often deemed as nostalgic.

Vocalist Matt Long is hardly a far cry from The Clientele’s Alasdair MacLean in vocal range and delivery, both using their admiration for ’60s pop and its subsequent sub-genre concoctions to create a world where melodies are both frail and beauty, with the emitted emotions being genuine and memorable. The Library’s new album, The Life and Times of Rosa Lee, combines this emotive sensibility with nostalgic stylistic references to compel listeners into a substantial accomplishment. “Tomorrow is Better” adds a slight twang to the predictably smooth accompaniment of hazy acoustics and usable percussion, adding in a harmonica for further effect over the subtle accompaniment of keys. This natural arsenal of instrumentation – guitar, rhythm, lap steel, and harmonica – generally compares to their earlier influences, even if the production is polished enough to easily spot its origination in the ’90s or ’00s. Slight components, like the lap steel arpeggio during the first verse, tend to sound more modernistic, while the beautiful bridge into a simplistically alluring chorus sounds like the work of a lost legend from the ’60s. “Tomorrow is Better” summarizes the sound of The Library exceptionally, it being a soothing and ethereal journey into the derivations of ’60s pop and folk while maintaining an emphasis on contemporary folk.

The romanticized contemplation expressed in “Tomorrow Is Better” serves well for the album’s general theme, with the opening “Wish I Knew” also expressing similar sentiments. Long’s vocals are particularly high-pitched but also relaxed here, probably adjusted for the use of strings that are similar in pitch. The result is a cohesively masterful arrangement that collides Long’s tenderly forlorn vocals, slow and emotive strings, and moderately paced acoustics into a breathtakingly exceptional track that serves as the perfect opener for The Life and Times of Rosa Lee. “You can call me up most anytime at all,” Long offers, merely requesting one chance to prove his point, “I promise not to be like them.” The Library are hardly like the others after all, abiding by their own standard and interpretation of nostalgic pop despite prevalent resemblances to The Clientele and other mood-based groups. Although it is certainly more of a mood track than one bursting with hooks, there are other tracks like “Tomorrow Is Better” and “Club Amnesia” on The Life and Times of Rosa Lee that emphasize more hooks than mood, with the self-titled cut also being one of them.

Keys and strings take over in absence of the initial acoustics on “The Life and Times of Rosa Lee”, leaving little room for vocal errors on Long’s part. The performance, barring one or two melodic miscues, is extremely commendable and genuine, its lo-fi production serving as the perfect closer to a highly impressive release that should provide some nice press for The Library before their CMJ appearance later this week. When the acoustics pick up after Long’s lyrics compel the listener about the overdue formation of a certain band, one can sense the passion for musical ingenuity within the songwriting and delivery. That their styles may derive from the past should only serve to supplement The Library’s amiable level of enjoyment. After all, in kicking off a decade of supposed stylistic declassification, everything seems fair game at this point.

RIYL: The Clientele, Slowdive, Belle & Sebastian, Felt, Neil Young, Ride

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The Library – Tomorrow Is Better

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The Library – Wish I Knew

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The Library – The Life and Times of Rosa Lee

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

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

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

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

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

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Midnight Juggernauts – This New Technology

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Midnight Juggernauts – Fantastic Valleys

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Midnight Juggernauts – This New Technology (Emperor Machine Remix)

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Any music fan can recognize the importance of collaboration in a finished product, regardless of whether they have the liner notes in front of them or not. Even in circumstances where one lead songwriter is in consummate control, there is always inspiration that derives from a willingness to accept others’ ideas as helpful intuition. Of course there have been legendary artists that have been stubborn as all hell, but most of them are still willing to admit that some influences and individuals had a prominent role in shaping memorable material. But what often goes unsuspected is the non-musical influence some of these people have, sometimes resulting in an indirect influence on the music itself. The importance of a loving family is inarguable, and to have certain artistic individuals surrounding you with no jealous intent or sense of corruption almost certainly proves beneficial. This is rare to be seen though, especially with many younger artists possessing the ideology that if they create something, the influence(s) are merely an afterthought. It also pertains to the indescribable enigma of chemistry, something that any great band can attest to having at some point in their career (for better or worse). To have a familial presence of fellow artists surrounding your ideas is a supportive way can only be beneficial, as long as all parties are genuine in their intent to aid one another in the formation and development of innovative ideas. And sometimes, it can turn into a band-like collaboration automatically as a result.

Le Loup is comprised of members that echo the indie-rock, DIY stereotype. They are all visibly talented musicians that aspire for great things in the realm of music, only delayed by lack of recognition and a pesky day job that requires them to sort through databases and PDF files. The allure of the stage life is much brighter, but we all have to pay for the groceries. Like any group, they have all been through their series of personal hardships and artistic ruts, but not like many others they are able to channel the negative energy into a creative flow that appears dependent on their incredible potential to work together. Between his job as a paralegal, songwriter Sam Simkoff has been honing has craft as a songwriter for years now. He gave birth to Le Loup in his bedroom and has steadily shared the inception with friends, most of them based out of the DC and Maryland area. He wrote songs throughout college and began moving around a bit after graduation, looking for ideas both as a songwriter and recent graduate with a sketchy job market looming. All throughout that time, he kept in touch with one of his best friends, Christian Ervin, and consistent sent him material in hopes of finding a mutual idea that exhibited the innovation and melodic precision they are both capable of. An electronic whiz, Ervin developed Simkoff’s initial songs into more expansive works that contained a more comprehensive scope of production while retaining Simkoff’s uniquely captivating songcraft. Simkoff sent the final product to Hardly Art, Sub Pop’s “sister label”, and they were signed shortly thereafter.

Le Loup’s 2007 debut, the ridiculously titled but underrated The Throne of the Third Heaven of the Nations’ Millennium General Assembly, was written primarily by Simkoff. Ervin did contribute to a few tracks, but it was mainly a DIY bedroom effort by Simkoff that relied heavily on banjos, synths, and other types of electronic experimentation. It received generally positive reviews but failed to reach the radar of most, mainly due to the fact that it was consistently of high quality but had no single that could achieve substantial radio-play. It would occasionally sound like experimental noise and then transform into a melodic pop song, suggesting somewhat of an indecisive technique despite the highly evident talents of both Simkoff and Ervin. Between then and now, Simkoff worked as a paralegal during the day and on his music at night, aiming toward a more expansive sound that was able to push the boundaries of contemporary innovation while showing off a more naturally spontaneous tone. The triumphs and errors of Le Loup’s debut made Simkoff realize that combining his talents with those of trusted friends could result in something extraordinary, and when you have friends that are as selfless and musically skilled as Simkoff’s then you should consider yourself fortunate. Their great chemistry is exhibited by the method of madness involved in creating their new album, Family. Appropriately enough, the band alternated between a remote cabin and basement, keeping Simkoff’s DIY methods in mind without relying on the singular ideas that make something a solo effort, rather than a collective one.

Family, as the name may suggest, was recorded in close-knit circumstances for a reason. That the five members retreated to a cable-less, internet-less, and social-less cabin in remote North Carolina was not just for fun; they wanted to create the most organic and authentic release they possibly could. The results certainly show, as Le Loup has seamlessly expanded their style from inconsistent experimental electronics to a more organic, satisfying result that can still be called experimental but now with a sense of diversity and musicianship that was largely missing on the debut. A song like “Grow” certainly shows why they have been bringing up so many Animal Collective comparisons lately, as it flaunts Simkoff’s breezy vocals over heavily involved percussion and backing vocals inspired by Afro-pop. There is still an electronic element here, but seeing actual percussion (instead of drum machines) and guitars (instead of samples) has done wonders for a project that just needed the extra collaborative push to put it in the spotlight. “Beach Town” has been making its way around the blogosphere for good reason; Simkoff grows from a whisper to an emotive whimper over the sound of seagulls, hectic percussion, and bubbling synth pad. The latter begins to resemble a sitar during its latter movements, again reflecting the apparent world music influence that Le Loup possesses. At times, songs resemble an Asian tribal chant like in “Saddle Mountains”. Others, especially “Beach Town”, invoke rare detailing to modern psychedelic pop in which world music and western pop collide to create majestic pieces of beauty. Family is full of tracks like these. Sure, experience helped in making this a great achievement and great improvement upon Le Loup’s debut, but one must not neglect the familial atmosphere surrounding this album. The stunning detail and stylistic evolution on Family certainly wear such chemistry well.

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Le Loup – Beach Town

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Le Loup – Grow

Le Loup – Saddle Mountains

***TRACKS REMOVED UPON THE REQUEST OF HARDLY ART***

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The post Le Loup’s Family Time appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

It was always interesting to me how varying generations perceive music differently. A well-written thesis or book has likely dissected this to pretentious hell already, so bear with me on this. There are too many intricacies involved to tackle this in a mere post, so I will touch upon it as concisely as I can. It is generally indisputable that a casual music fan can identify music from a specific decade as long as it abides by certain stereotypes. Certainly electronica and early bluegrass can find prevalent chronological differences based on the sophistication of their production alone, but differentiating between something like the power-pop of the ’70s and indie-rock of the ’00s is much trickier. To casual observers of music, it is not in the production or theory of the sound that arises these unavoidable comparisons, but rather what their impression of the particular decade was. One’s sociological surroundings and general upbringing has a larger influence on this than anything, with the more subtle components being the media’s role and how important that role appears to the individual. Now that commercial music is energized by bad cover versions and recycled genres, it has become increasingly difficult to separate the the present from the past. For the most part, it is like reliving past successes with all the cheesiness and without the exciting innovation. No wonder today’s music media is targeted largely at teens that know little more than what is put in front of them. The parents and older generations that have already heard it in a fresher, less manipulative, and more groundbreaking way years ago still have their vinyls, right?

Perhaps I am harsher of commercial music than I should be, but the pop music in mainstream America today seems to either directly imitate the boy-band craze of the ’90s or resort to re-workings of lost classics from decades ago. The lack of evolution from profitable pop artists of the ’90s to ’00s is alarming to me, and I am not even analyzing the quality of songwriting or production. That remains similar (poor to average). What surprises me is the hesitation to stylistically innovate or even incorporate in the mainstream media, an arguable reflection of longstanding political beliefs and rigid sociological systems. If there is one beneficial thing about all this dull consistency though, it is when an artist emerges and appears like a blast from the past without the pathetic indulgence of marketing potential. Like the artists of yesterday that continue to be imitated, both subtly and prevalently, they appear as a breath of fresh air. Only this time, it is amidst chaos that these older artists may not be familiar with. Like many others on this site, I believe The Wiyos to be one of them. And it is not just because they beautifully interpret a style that many associate with the past. Their ideology is one of tradition and old-fashioned integrity, two elements that integrate themselves into their music.

The four members in The Wiyos can be found enjoying silent films and playing instruments without an amplifier, all dressed in suits that expose little more than a nostalgic mystique. They look as if they just stepped out of Doc Brown’s time machine, enjoying the attempt to collaborate the past and present. In fact, they themselves clarify that anything from the early 20th century tickles their fancy, particularly the styles of music that grew and flourished in that era. Ragtime and piedmont blues, both noted for their melodically syncopated approach and historical importance, are their two prominent influences. Both relied on barren instrumentation and accompaniment, but both the passion of the performers and syncopated unpredictability of the rhythm and driving melodic soul led the types to extreme popularity during their heydays in the early and mid ’20s. Piedmont blues’ use of ragtime hardly makes it relevant in today’s realm of contrary rock ‘n’ roll and pop music, but Americana and rockabilly owe quite a debt to its rhythmic syncopation. This is perhaps why it would be so easy to group The Wiyos in with all the other Americana artists. Not so fast though. Unlike many contemporaries, the Brooklyn four-piece appear more authentic in their approach. Instead of tackling the genre in a song or two, they devote their craft to it, seeking to innovate and touch upon the past without imitating the legends of the past. It is an ideology that today’s artists could benefit from.

In addition to gaining a prominent fanbase by touring seven counties are crossing a supposed 400,000 miles throughout their five-year existence, The Wiyos have now released one of the most fascinating albums of the year in Broken Land Bell. Their fourth album shows The Wiyos did not name their band after a 19th century street gang for any old reason; they pack the same collaboratively brilliant punch as any successful working group of the past. The musicianship is astoundingly tight, steered by a stylistic direction that few, if any, of today’s bands can even attempt, nonetheless pull of successfully. While not the most technically startling piece on the album, “Promenade” is one of the more accessible efforts in exposing a style that many classify as “outdated”. To spice things up a bit, the boys integrate a barber-shop duet sort of feel with an array of accompanying instruments, specifically in the vein of harmonicas and brass. Banjos and upright bass stay on the conventional course, but all the instrumentation is highly impressive and even those not familiar with the genre should find themselves enthralled instantaneously by the nostalgic embrace with occasional reminders of contemporary placement. “Stomp” provides some great diversity in the rhythm section, particularly in the contrast between the bass’ support of solely a banjo and the entire assortment of instruments. The lull in the middle of the track allows the latter half to pack an even bigger punch, a build-up technique used in several of the songs on Broken Land Bell. Oh yeah, the incorporation of beat-boxing on this track and throughout the album is something special and entirely original. It is startling how many hooks it accounts for.

“Redbird” sits alone on the album as something contrary to the album’s general stylistic presentation, allowing a more fluid form of melancholic form of folk to emerge. The vocals are more subdued and the accompaniments more barren, but the emotional vulnerability is even heavier. When the acoustic guitar emerges in its brooding tone, The Wiyos’ emotional sincerity is even more thoroughly established. Most of The Wiyo’s most prominent influences were physically dead before they were born, but these guys do great justice in exposing an important style of music in a polished and contemporary form, prompting today’s listeners to expand their horizons and become acquainted with their favorite artists’ own influences.

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The Wiyos – Promenade

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The Wiyos – Redbird

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The Wiyos – Stomp

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The post The Wiyos Ring the Broken Land Bell appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

An artist who sports a scruffy beard, sings about “indie queens” and kings, and names their album after a Kurt Vonnegut quote is bound to create a memorable first impression. It may sound like the definitive stereotype for all these independent artists I write about, so smug with their tastes and beliefs that their own art sometimes ends up reeking of old influences and re-hashed ideas. The problem is, these flaws tend to appear with time and not in instantaneous fashion. I sometimes go back and listen to groups I wrote about two or three years ago. Some I admired for their songcraft, others for their style or innovation. But there was never a case in which a new artist achieved perfection, even if they came painstakingly close to it. Seeing a likable band that is new today in the future could either be devastating or triumphant. One of the most rewarding things about writing for this site is seeing how bands I featured in the past grow, remain the same, or disintegrate all together after their first or second release. The growers are receptive to change in both a minor and dramatic sense, while the stabilizers appear content with consistency in artistic development, financial income, and the fluctuation of their fan base. Both can falter at any moment, but the risks are obviously higher for those not fearful of change. For them, their biggest enemy is the two-sided realm of criticism.

When artists pursue a certain lyrical or musical style that is unconventional, there opens an opportunity for outspoken criticism to prevent an artist from evolving into a transitional songwriter, rather than one who is satisfied with placidity and not artistic stimulation. Dan Mangan has always been a talented and genuine storyteller, and to coexist in an industry where visuals and exploitation reign in the mainstream must be difficult. The pressure must mount, but Mangan has always remained unfazed. On top of that, the 26-year-old sings about topics that are both emotionally sensitive and culturally contemporary, ranging from the loss of cell phone service in “Robots” to the loss of a loved one in the excellent “Fair Verona”. He criticizes certain components of society, like the tendency of tasteless elitists to push their tastes upon others in “The Indie Queens Are Waiting”, but applauds others, like the wisdom that love can offer in “You Silly Girl” or that old stories can offer in “Basket”. Through it all he maintains the utmost focus and relevance to his own sound, his raggedly enthralling voice being complemented beautifully by a range of twinkling keys, hushed acoustic guitars, lush pianos, and accompanying harmonicas.

Mangan’s lyrical delivery is influenced by one of his favorite writers, the late Kurt Vonnegut. Like Vonnegut, he relays life’s most utmost complexities into a literary form that is simple to grasp. It hardly takes the elusiveness out of the product though, actually adding more to its enigma because of the clever analogies or playful visuals. Mangan’s sophomore album, Nice, Nice, Very Nice, borrows a line from Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle for its title. “Oh, a sleeping drunkard up in Central Park, and a lion-hunter in the jungle dark,” the quote goes. “And a Chinese dentist, and a British queen – all fit together in the same machine.” It is an apt reference and allusion, especially in Mangan’s case. “Nice, nice, very nice,” it concludes, “So many different people in the same device.” As Vonnegut channeled the unified mechanisms of society into a simple analogy, Mangan moves to our modern world in combining his unique melodic ability with a lyrical delivery that showcases his adoration for literary devices. He tackles cell phone reception and the harsh complexities of reality, all on one album that is diverse enough both lyrically and melodically to resonate with most social demographics that are willing to listen.

Nice, Nice, Very Nice is yet another fantastic folk release from Canada, proving Mangan to be a songwriter with durability and prevalent ability. Despite it being the antithesis of commercial success, his ambitious lyrical approach and tendency to avoid generic pitfalls shows that he will certainly be one to look out for in the coming decade. “Robots” sports a very nice acoustical arrangement and passionate vocal display under snazzy brass accompaniments and active percussion. “And I spent half of my life in the customer service line,” Mangan sings, “flaws in the design, a sign of the times.” Society’s obsession with technological automation has been touched upon before, but this is a clever and worthwhile song nonetheless thanks to its refreshing approach. Those looking for a deeper and more artistically invigorating song should turn to “Fair Verona”, one of my favorites on the album. Listening to both “Robots” and “Fair Verona” should provide listeners with a good representation of Mangan, as his strength as a diversified songwriter is one that should certainly be valued.

With occasional bleeps of synth and sporadic chimes of electric guitar serving as the only consistent instrumentation over the steady rhythm section, this song is built for Mangan’s voice and storytelling ability to take over. The music sways accordingly to the romanticized tale, one of how the phrase “carpe diem” needs to be valued more in relationships. Brass is the first to become a truly established instrument, only to fade again before lush strings take over their place. Each occurs during a solemn and strikingly appropriate moment for their entry, with Mangan introducing fun alterations of the verses and chorus along the way. “Pine for Cedars” and “Set the Sails” close out the album with a transcendental tone, alluding to nature as the most harmless source of moral salvation. The amount of content on the album cannot be defined by length, as Mangan packs a punch from beginning to end by exposing the world’s intricacies in the only way we can understand them. He delivers them in the simplest and most apt way possible.

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Dan Mangan – Robots

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Dan Mangan – Fair Verona

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Dan Mangan – Pine for Cedars

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When I featured the legendary Thom Bell two years ago, it proved to be somewhat contrary to this site’s usual format. I often tend to look at groups whose future has yet to be written, compared to living legends whose past is already etched on a hall-of-fame replica somewhere. For the Bell article, I had let some personal leverage come into play; I feel an obligation to cover any artist that I recognize as underappreciated, living or dead. As a result, my admiration for Philly soul and the numerous groups Thom Bell worked with caused me to realize the lack of recognition for soul artists today. Soul music has a name that has been ridden by clichés and stereotypes, the most common being that it is outdated and without means for a modernistic revival. Artists like Jamie Lidell and Raphael Saadiq disprove this with a fashionable style of soul touched up by electronic and pop elements, but they remain too far out of the mainstream spotlight to contribute much to the conventionalized outlook on soul music. Lidell, Saadiq, and even artists like Alicia Keys do have a role in exposing their influences though, which usually trace back to the likes of James Brown, Sam Cooke, and Marvin Gaye. This indirect relation is usually the only contact the average listener has with soul music today, which is a shame because of its invaluable influence on today’s pop music.

Perhaps it takes actual figures from the past to re-ignite the popularity of the soul movement, even in an age like this where commercialization seems to be vital for music’s success. Soul actually originated from the commercialization of rhythm and blues though, so perhaps a fusion of today’s pop music with some throwback ‘60s soul would strike the right chord for young listeners. Lee Fields is by no means a new name (he has been releasing material since the late ‘60s), but his comeback attempts may be just what the doctor ordered for gravitating today’s listeners toward soul music. Fields was active throughout the ’70s but then went on hiatus in the ’80s, only to return in 1992 with a comeback surprise in Enough Is Enough. Since then, he has released six albums; his newest, My World, was released this June. His sound is more reminiscent of throwback soul than the additive-filled soul fusions that are popular today, but his lack of emphasis on structural and stylistic experimentation owes more to the genuine fervor of ‘60s soul than to its lack of intricacy. My World follows this formula with great success, resulting in an album that serves as an ode to yesterday’s soul music without sounding outdated or devoid of originality.

It speaks volumes of Fields’ ardency that women still appear to comprise the bulk of his audience. It means nothing that Fields looks to be in his 60s by now, as his voice and charm still work wonders. In fact, considering his modest success in the ‘70s, one can arguably say that Fields’ best work has come within the past decade. His comeback albums in the ’90s were fun but rarely emotionally invigorating, often featuring a generic style of soul and blues that got lost in the transition from the ’80s to ’90s with unsuccessful synthesizers and predictable balladry. Fields’ 1999 album, Let’s Get a Groove On, marked a new label and direction for the seemingly ageless soul artist; he pulled out his James Brown jumpsuit and delivered a whole bunch of infectious soul-funk that resulted in the most acclaimed record of Fields’ career. Its follow-up in 2002, Problems, was just as good, once again seeing Fields’ trace back to his most prevalent influence in James Brown. I know that all these Brown comparisons may turn some off, but I recommend that you give Fields a listen regardless of your opinion on Brown. After all, My World pursues a style that is more reminiscent of the Philly soul that Thom Bell crafted so ingeniously in the late ‘60s and ‘70s. This, in addition to Fields’ prolific experience, crafts an album that surpasses Let’s Get a Groove On in being the best of his career.

A song like “Ladies” is something of a rare delicacy; it manages to capture the glistening nostalgia of ‘60s soul with subtle techniques that make it relevant today. The production is reminiscent of archetypal Philly soul here and throughout the album, seeing a cohesive blend of seductive string arrangements and bustling bass lines flourish over an orchestral accompaniment that would make Bell or recently imprisoned Phil Spector long for the past (if the latter does not do so already). In “Ladies”, these captivating arrangements combine with Fields’ vocal hooks and ardency to create something special. “When you pass me by, it’s like sugar to my eyes,” he sings before the hectically excellent chorus. “You’re sugar, you’re spice, and you’re everything nice. A man is incomplete without a lady in his life.” He then speaks directly to this object of infatuation, elaborating upon the powers that she has on a broken heart. The topic is simple and much of the musical content is even simpler, but the devilishly clever hook that takes place in the chorus combined with Fields’ inspiring vocal effort makes it one of the best on My World.

The self-titled track benefits from a fantastic rhythm section that is supplemented further by guitar licks, brass, and an assortment of keys. Fields’ focus is political here, and his voice is raspier but also more ardent than most of the other tracks on My World. It distinctively reminded me of Bobby Womack and greats like “Across 110th Street” with Fields’ haunting howl embellishing keys, saxophones, and funk guitar licks. The general style is more indicative of late ’70s soul with the use of synthesizers, which are implemented very nicely here. “Love Comes and Goes” sounds like a lost classic from the Stylistics or Spinners, especially since Fields’ vocals sound fresher than ever and his melodies could sweep insatiable fans off the floor. What really makes this comparison so memorable though is The Del-Larks, who back up Fields with interlacing vocal harmonies that add to the allure of the track’s jubilant demeanor. Over a dozen musicians make up The Expressions, Fields’ backing band, and they do a consistently remarkable job throughout the album. Even if My World does not achieve recognition due to today’s generalized conception of soul music being “outdated”, those who appreciate the genre and all the fine works within it will surely enjoy the excellent My World. It is a new album that sounds like a classic from the past.

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Lee Fields & The Expressions – Ladies

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Lee Fields & The Expressions – My World

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Lee Fields & The Expressions – Love Comes and Goes

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The post Lee Fields & The Expressions appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Psychedelia is rarely looked upon as the most intricate or respectable of genres. Throw in a little reverb here, add some overlapping vocal melodies there, and you have yourself a song typical of the style. The dismissal of psychedelia is usually rooted in one of two excuses, with one being the genre’s linear composure and the other related to the supposed target audience of deadbeats and hippies. Both are horrible stereotypes, especially in response to a genre that – if anything – is more overlooked than most styles of indie-rock that occupy the mainstream today. Although it is true that there have been many desperate psychedelia artists and fans that are tripping too hard to know who is on stage, I feel that the artists that utilize elements of psychedelia while maintaining an emphasis on other genres are being underappreciated because of this ridiculous generalizations. Spacemen 3 is the first group that comes to mind for me, as they prominently infused a new style of psychedelia that was previously interpreted as unconventional and devoid of focus. They were able to create beautiful melodies with heavy distortion and pulsing percussion, an aspect that captured fans due to the unique contrasting of different stylistic methods. Implementation of synths, one-chord jam sessions, and avant-garde production and structural techniques were prevalent, and the cult following they amassed was in result to a sound that was both incomparable and inventively brilliant.

Even if they are not exactly household names to casual music fans, groups like Spacemen 3 and The Jesus and Mary Chain are responsible for molding the current perception of psychedelia as a genre that is often unpredictable and inherently multifarious. Bands like Deerhunter, Wavves, and Crystal Stilts are all clearly indebted to this, as defining their music often is an inconclusive task that leads us somewhere between psychedelia, post-punk, and indie-rock. One could say that the newest group to emerge from this righteous philosophy has the potential to be the most eclectic of them all. Crocodiles have been building some buzz for the past several months, thanks to some help from a group of a comparable stylistic vein. They were propelled initially by the praise of acclaimed noise-pop duo No Age, who wrote on their site at the end of 2008 that Crocodiles’ “Neon Jesus” was one of their favorite songs of the year. A record deal with Fat Possum Records followed less than a month later, and Crocodiles soon enough found themselves caught up in an unavoidable stream of hype. That the two frontmen consist of a teacher and a butcher almost sounds like the start of a bad joke, but it is hard to blame a band at the middle-point between obscurity and renown for holding a steady job. Butchers and teachers rarely cross paths in the world of traditional occupations, but Crocodiles appears as an exhibit of one of the best songwriting partnerships of 2009.

While one would have usually found Brandon Welchez substitute-teaching in a classroom or Charles Rowell baking bread in a bakery instead of on stage or in the studio, they are both currently in the midst of a national tour that demands a show nearly every night for several months. It is hard to blame the demand for Crocodiles though, as it seems that they have emerged at a perfect time when fusions of psychedelia are accessible and familiar to many listeners of indie-rock. Crocodiles’ mixture of psychedelia, noise-pop, and post-punk has earned them comparisons to Spacemen 3 and the like, but there is a sense of modernistic ingenuity even on unavoidably nostalgic efforts like “I Wanna Kill” and “Here Comes the Sky.” It is their stylistic adeptness that carries them far on most occasions, as their display of wispy synth lines, roaring guitars, and alternating percussion show the duo’s most glaring strength. These contrasting elements prevail as surprisingly cohesive standards thanks to Crocodiles’ impressive songwriting and stylistic composure, one that achieves innovative greatness despite some enjoyably blatant influences. “I Wanna Kill” plays with the buoyant reverb of ‘80s indie-rock staples like Echo & the Bunnymen, while the jagged “Flash of Light” is highly reminiscent of the artsy yelps and spurting bass that is typical of contemporary noise-pop. Their debut album, Summer of Hate, feels like one accessible time machine; the duo appears with a seamless ability to either singularly focus on one period or fuse them together to create something extraordinarily unique.

The unique craftsmanship of Summer of Hate results in an album that values consistency in a different light than most contemporary artists. Somehow, despite the fact that nearly each and every song sounds like it originated from a different time period, each and every song flows into one another gracefully with no force at all. “Soft Skull (In My Room)” touts vocal ardency with some impressive guitar work and utilization of synths, but a hazily ethereal demeanor still lurks in Welchez’s blithe vocals and Rowell’s light synths. As a result, the transition into the beautiful “Here Comes the Sky” succeeds without a hitch. Keys take on a similar rhythmic role as the synths on “Soft Skull (In My Room)”, but the duo’s psychedelic ventures are considerably more prevalent here with a single reverbed guitar and choir-like assortment of synth pads enclosing the track into thickly reverberating heights. The style reminds me more of Blur’s more psychedelic material (“1992”, the bulk of 13) than psych-rock shape-shifters like Spacemen 3, but this time it results in perhaps the group’s greatest achievement thus far. Summer of Hate is a distinctively memorable debut that achieves based on its own innovation, as it masterfully juggles the divide between audible influence and focused creativity.

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Crocodiles – Here Comes the Sky

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Crocodiles – I Wanna Kill

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Crocodiles – Soft Skull (In My Room)

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