by Lauren Tischler

It is safe to say that hip-hop prodigy Scott Mescudi, better known as Kid Cudi, has a lot going for him. His debut album Man on the Moon: The End of Day sold 104,419 copies in the span of a week, he stars in HBO’s “How to Make it in America,” and has collaborated with hip hop greats such as Common and Kanye West. The rapper, singer, and actor is on the top of his game after a few short years, and the much awaited release of his newest album Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager tells us he’s not stopping anytime soon.

Considering the amount of success that Kid Cudi’s breakthrough album had in 2009, it was instantly obvious that the follow-up had to meet some high expectations. Whether the album meets these standards is debatable. The album opens with the rapper crooning promising lyrics. “You are now in the world I am ruling,” he expresses, followed by a soulful chorus sung by Gnarls Barkley’s Cee-Lo Green. The song is seemingly a prelude to an album that we believe will be somewhat like Cudi’s first work: refreshing and youthful. What follows, “REVOFEV”, meets our anticipations with a mysterious, psychedelic drum beat and instrumental track.

While the first two tracks of Man on the Moon II are convincing, the rest of Kid Cudi’s album proves to be wary. The tracks are unmemorable and seem to blend together as the album progresses. “Don’t Play this Song” is a dull composition with monotonous lyrics, and while Mary J. Blige is featured on the track, even she fails to impress. “MANIAC” featuring St. Vincent and Cage, and “Erase Me” with Kanye West again prove that even an impressive line up of guest vocalists does not attribute considerably to success of any kind on Cudi’s album.

Although Man on the Moon II is not Kid Cudi’s most outstanding work, it shows us a side of the artist we have not seen in his earlier music. Since Kid Cudi’s first album, he has become a father to a little girl named Vada and has been arrested for criminal charges and drug possession. The artist has also, in the past year, opened up about a heavy cocaine addiction. Though we should not hand Cudi a free pass because of these trials, it is unquestionably a factor to be taken in when considering his newest album. Man on the Moon II is blatantly dark and exemplifies these problems in Cudi’s life. This effect can be seen, for example, in “Wild’n Cuz i’m Young”. Kid Cudi speaks of how his father’s smoking and drinking habits influenced him over an eerie synth line. “These Worries” is another cryptic narrative. The album closes with “Trapped in my Mind”, and while the track is not catchy or noteworthy, Cudi’s lifeless delivery provides a surprisingly fitting conclusion to the album.

So despite the fact that Kid Cudi’s new album won’t be perpetually blasting from my stereo in contrast to his early release, it serves another purpose. Man on the Moon II: The Legend of Mr. Rager introduces us to an intimate artist named Scott Mescudi, rather than the pop culture icon Kid Cudi we know and see everyday.

Kid Cudi – Scott Mescudi vs. The World (ft. Cee-Lo Green)

Kid Cudi – REVOFEV

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by Josh Taylor

Julian Shah-Tayler was born to make music. Putting out an EP every few months and pumping out 50-70 songs a year is no easy feat, unless you show prevalently the aspects of a well-rounded musician. His robust musicianship is responsible for his versatility as an artist. What I noticed after listening to his latest EP, Un Ange Passe, is that Julian is a songwriter who creates for his heart’s content. He strays from songwriting conventions and isn’t afraid to experiment if it amuses his untypical sensibilities.

Julian’s songs distinctly belong to their maker. Un Ange Passe is very personal and all the songs on the EP (with the exception of “Wetter”) were written for a dearly departed friend of Julian’s who tragically passed away. The literal translation of the title “Un Ange Passe” is “an angel is passing”, but is usually used when an awkward silence falls over the room. The EP tells a brief and interesting story about what happened to Christine. Julian tells it well, as the story is endearing and stripped down to the most honest details.

Instead of diving into the story headfirst, the EP begins with “Wetter.”  The songs on the EP are sandwiched by “Wetter” and the remix of “Wetter” by Karl Leiker. This song is definitely the black sheep… uptempo, naughty lyrics and electro influence. The feel of the song is great and could be a radio hit. The second song on Un Ange Passe is “Everything Is You”, serving as a good transition into the rest of the EP, which is more relaxed musically. The song begins with finger-snapping, chimes and some elusive and wandering exotic-sounding instruments. Then iit develops a direction and chooses to take on a New Order/Depeche Mode feel. The nameless exotics remain, lending a curious tone to the song. It’s almost as if they don’t belong, but are still welcomed.

“Communication” resembles the sparse feel of a desert. It’s expansive (at 5 and a half minutes) and filled with many instrumental breaks. The track lulls and winds but I don’t know that it goes anywhere. All I know is that when I listen to it, I start to space out.  If Julian wanted “Communication” to have a daydream-inducing effect, then bravo — well done, because that is exactly what happens.

“Christine” is where the EP starts to come together and the song clearly lays out what exactly happened to his late friend of the same name. Make what you want of the other songs and interpret them as you wish, but here is what happened, Julian seems to say. Musically, “Christine” brings to mind The Smiths “How Soon Is Now?” and has the same pensive inquiry.  One of the most striking and revealing lyrics is “as the kiss of the needle delivers you to the real world” followed by this lyric in the bridge “even if this life could give you all the love you need, I guess you had enough.” The verdict: overdose.

Un Ange Passe occupies a certain estranged darkness, but it is only when the listener gets to “Christine” that I feel they can go back and find its lingering presence in the background of the entire EP. Perhaps that misplaced discomfort is the awkwardness that the album title also refers to. Still, the way the song is handled is half ode, half something else that I can’t quite pin down. For a song written for a close friend the song isn’t particularly sentimental, which is odd to me. However,  I think those feelings find their way into the next song “Lullabies.”

From what I heard, “Lullabies” was written for Julian’s future daughter. But the listener is also led to believe that perhaps the song’s tender message is intended for Christine as well. The lullaby soothes the listener as well as the singer, perhaps reminding him that everything will be fine and there really is nothing to be afraid of during the night, and maybe in death…

Whatever the ultimate purpose of Un Ange Passe is, it can be listened to in many different ways. Julian is adventurous with his artistic choices and presents his subject matter though a twisted lens. This is not to say that his method is perverse, but rather aiming for artistic perfection on his own terms. Some say that’s a nifty idea. I would say it’s better than nifty, or original, or clever. I would say the whole EP is a noble effort. Too many musicians make music to turn a quick buck but lack the vision to make something worthwhile. Others write for their heart’s content, yet lack the talent to make sophisticated music. Julian, however, is the best of both. He is talented and passionate, which shows remarkably.

One last thing I noticed: None of these songs showcase Julian’s piano talents, but word on the street is that his full-length debut does. Entitled Coito Ergo Sum, it is due in the fall. So keep an eye out, or an ear rather.

RIYL: Depeche Mode, Dave Gahan, New Order, Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, Duran Duran, The Cure, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Alphaville, David Wrench, The Human League, Gary Numan, Tears for Fears, Soft Cell, INXS, Talk Talk, A Flock of Seagulls, Naked Eyes, Blancmange

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Julian Shah-Tayler – Everything Is You

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Julian Shah-Tayler – Wetter

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Julian Shah-Tayler – In Your Room (Depeche Mode cover)

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Impossible Things Records

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by Colleen Seidel

Twelve seconds into The Colorage, a trumpet caps off the end of an crescendo guitar run, practically announcing the arrival of a talented new alt-rock band from Pittsburgh, PA.  And while the five-song EP from Yours Truly isn’t completely flawless, bigger bands have professionally produced worse LPs than this young trio from the Steel City. This is indicative of either the current music scene’s tolerance for banality, Yours Truly’s promising chemistry, or both.

Singer Justin Portis fronts the group with vocals and works the progressive guitar rhythms that give the songs their signature intensity. Portis proves himself to be a potent lyricist, crafting poetic language in melodic form that’s both catchy and thought-provoking.  The single best exemplar for this is the alliterative “She taps for tips on tabletops” in the album’s fourth track by the same name, although snippets litter the EP all along the way.  At the same time, Portis has good vocal range that he employs well, if uncertainly at times, especially in the soft beginning of “In the Friscalating Dusklight.”

The album’s best track – if one could be named, as they all sit on pretty equal footing – is “Don’t Look Down.”  It possesses the right mix of energy, drama and accessibility.  It’s not your run-of-the-mill radio single, but it is easy enough to sing along with that you might find yourself doing just that hours after you’re done spinning the record.  If nothing else, “Don’t Look Down” exists as a great introduction to the Yours Truly sound, despite the fact that the band placed it last in the track lineup.

The group’s respective creative talents are well-matched, with verdant drummer Eric Downs supplying the beats and Pittsburgh-famed producer DJ Huggy on bass.  Downs isn’t satisfied with simple variations of quarter-beat patterns when he can do something more intricate, most likely a result of his college jazz background (note the opening to “Last Chance”).  Huggy provides a solid basement for the songs to rest upon, one without which Portis’s flying guitar solos would seem limp, but also stands on his own as a natural with bass rhythms that dip and dance about (again, note “Last Chance”).

Where the band stumbles is, paradoxically enough, its ambitious experimentation.  While it gets kudos for trying things other young bands wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole, at first some things feel forced and disrupt the flow of an otherwise smooth song.  “Don’t Look Down” offers doubled-up guitar notes as a Hail Mary at the end that aren’t needed; certain vocal work throughout the album goes in one direction when you expect it to go in another, which is slightly counter-intuitive.  The kinks, however, are nothing that can’t be worked out as the group’s chemistry matures, and it must be said the addition of the aforementioned horn work on “The Crown” was a touch of genius.

In all, The Colorage is a solid debut from a young band that, given time to marinate in its own creative juices a bit more, can only get better.  Let’s just hope the current rock scene wakes up from its Nickelback-induced coma to take notice.

7.0/10.0

RIYL: Incubus, Mutemath, Foo Fighters, Audioslave, 311, Slightly Stoopid, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Silverchair, Matthew Good, CAKE, Jane’s Addiction, Weezer, Third Eye Blind, Muse, Faith No More, Placebo

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Yours Truly – She Taps for Tips

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Yours Truly – The Crown

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Yours Truly – Don’t Look Down

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

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

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

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

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

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Tim Williams – Ozone Street

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Tim Williams – I Want to Die in California

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Tim Williams – Right All Along

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Official Web Site

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

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

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

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

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The Cubical – Edward the Confessor

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The Cubical – Like Me (I’m a Peacock)

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The Cubical – Great White Lie

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Dead Young Records

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In an age where audible masculinity is often associated with loud guitars and aggressive screaming, you are really putting yourself out in the open (and taking a few commercial risks) by shaping your vinyl records in the shape of a heart. Sociological standards have changed just as much, if not more, than music in the past seven decades, and to associate hearts with music nowadays seems to either involve Disney’s latest abstaining sensations or overly adorable indie-pop. Thus, to expect something modern-sounding out of Drew Cohen, better known Mayer Hawthorne, might be premature. After all, this is the same guy who asked his label, Stones Throw, if they could press his debut single like Bobby Caldwell did in the early ’80s, when his vinyl was pressed into the shape of a heart. The reason? Simply because the songs dealt with love. Taking a cue from a blue-eyed soul songwriter like Caldwell seems apt for Cohen, even if his his primary influences are actually scattered throughout the ’50s and ’60s. What is amicable among these soul songwriters, though, regardless of whether they originated in the ’50s or ’80s is the prevalence of ardency, even if it takes away a lot of the masculinity that rock ‘n’ roll instills. But for those music fans that are truly fans, this should be irrelevant. In the case of Cohen, the lack of self-concern is a breath of fresh air.

Detroit’s prominence nowadays mainly arises from high crime rates, but anyone without knowledge of the city’s illustrious musical history has a lot of great acts waiting for them (most of which they probably know). In that sense, it is one of the richest cities in the nation. The city has seen plenty of great rock acts – from Iggy & the Stooges to The White Stripes – emerge over the past couple decades, but perhaps Detroit’s most embodied sense of musical history was its role during the explosion of R&B and soul in the ’50s. Motown Records, important for both its role in racial desegregation and massive corporate success, is home to Detroit, as were artists like Smokey Robinson and The Temptations. The role of Detroit in building a foundation for future soul artists was integral. As a result, you can imagine the influence it had on the Detroit kids that were growing up in the ’50s and ’60s. Being surrounded by such a stylistically invigorating phase must have been invigorating and utterly memorable. For the artistically inclined growing up in Detroit, seeing the simultaneous abundance of rock ‘n’ roll, R&B, and soul from the early ’50s toward the late ’70s must have left a unique impression, one that perhaps made their future endeavors considerably more eclectic and nostalgic than their peers.

Growing up just outside of Detroit in Ann Arbor, Cohen’s childhood was surrounded by music. And although he was born too late for Detroit’s legendary era of rock and soul (he grew up in the ’80s), his father was not. A full-time owner of an auto-parts store and part-time musician, Cohen’s father introduced Motown to him at a young age. They would listen to Motown together on his way to work, with the younger Cohen asking his father dozens of questions for each song that came on the radio. The father would gladly respond with all the answers, igniting his son’s passion for music in the process. The ’80s was not an era when Motown was being played continuously on the radio, but we can all thank Mr. Cohen for being a bit behind the times and exposing his son to music that would eventually separate him from his peers in his musical career. It is ironic how something deemed as “outdated” can lead to freshly concocted ideas years afterward, perhaps showing that influences are never really outdated at all. Cohen’s father still unsurprisingly plays in a band back in Detroit, while he has been turning heads with his Mayer Hawthorne project. Originally started for pure fun, playing soul favorites for family and friends evolved into something more for Cohen. Considering Cohen had spent most of his time prior working as a DJ for underground hip-hop group Now On, some could say that his foray into soul music was like discovering a latent talent for the first time.

A fan of everything from hip-hop to grunge, Cohen’s interpretation of neo-soul on his debut A Strange Arrangement borrows both modernistic and retro components of pop and Motown to establish a release that separates itself from contemporaries like Raphael Saadiq and Lee Fields. The self-titled track is one of the album’s most stunning, taking the signature layers of Motown orchestration to produce a smooth and heavily seductive mixture of brass, piano, and guitars incorporated into a stunning rhythm section. The rhythm sounds casual and slowly paced, but the way it leads and develops the track’s peaks under Cohen’s absolutely stunning vocals is unforgettable. The main hook, signaled by the abrupt descending of bass notes, recalls The Stylistics and other Philly soul groups that treated listeners with smooth subtleties and lavish orchestration. “But I can’t stand by while you break my heart in two,” he laments during the hook, solidifying the timeless and old-fashioned gripes of unrequited love in ways so sincere that today’s youth is hardly familiar with it. This track is extremely reminiscent of the past, but many others on the album do assume a more contemporary standing.

“Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out” was the first song completed for the album and the one that prompted Stones Throw to commission Cohen for a full album. This one applies more swiftness and gradual guitar work, with the falsetto and backing vocals being more up-to-date with modern blue-eyed soul artists like Jamie Lidell. Meanwhile, “Maybe So, Maybe No” utilizes some crisp brass incorporated with funk (à la Matthew Herbert) to showcase some very intelligent songwriting. “Green Eyed Love” is quite fascinating for its hazy keyboard lead and updated production, sounding more along the lines of a stripped-down Gnarls Barkley than a ’60s soul artist. It always works though regardless of contemporary standing, and that in itself justifiably shows why A Strange Arrangement is one of the most enjoyably accessible debuts of the year.

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Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement

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Mayer Hawthorne – Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out

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Mayer Hawthorne – Green Eyed Love

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Stones Throw Records

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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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There is a certain sense of stubbornness that, in some cases, can make a solo artist great. When gifted songwriters maintain their individuality, they tend to treat their influences as stepping stones instead of a basis for imitation. Unlike the band format, solo artists do not have to be held down by the vague intentions that derive from other members’ influences. The great bands blend their differences into one cohesive sound, but this is unfortunately in the rarest of cases. It is likelier that a band is torn apart by irrevocably subjective matters, like a preferred stylistic direction or the frequency of certain influences that may pertain to only one or two members. For a band to achieve greatness, the collaborative atmosphere must be open to new ideas and embracing toward each member’s taste. Otherwise, the quality will suffer due to indecision and the collaborative quality will be noticeably deficient. And then there are those artists that have ideas and influences so unconventional that finding a group of like-minded collaborators seems impossible. Consequently, they begin to pursue the music occupation on their own, with their high level of creativity and innovation actually serving as a detriment to their ability to successfully collaborate with other musicians.

This is a very common scenario that often decides whether a band without one driving force can be successful. Without one songwriter in complete control, it is a necessity to have members that are either similar in taste or intelligently receptive toward other ideas. The only way to avoid this is to ease oneself into a working environment with different members, gradually introducing new ideas as each member unknowingly acquires a new taste palette that allows them to work cohesively with the other members. Such is the case with Mariage Blanc, a six-piece from Pittsburgh whose ingenious collaborative tendencies are shown tremendously on their first release, Broken Record. They have been working on this seven-song EP since their formation last fall, and the result is nothing short of an extraordinary burst of creative energy within the generally recurring field of indie-rock. The group possesses two primary songwriters in Matt Ceraso and Josh Kretzmer, instantly demanding cohesive collaboration because of the split dynamic. Broken Record shows that they are both incredibly gifted songwriters with independent and collaborative ideas that serve as a representation of their gradual working relationship that is now complete and comfortable after some clever maneuvering.

Oddly enough, Mariage Blanc actually started out as a way to promote the separate solo projects of Ceraso and Kretzmer. Due to the difficulties of finding other members and slight artistic differences, the two Pitt graduates decided to release a split EP instead of forming a band together. The two had graduated from the same college, but had not began working together until after school through some mutual friends. The creative process surrounding this split EP was the fire that ignited the true form of Mariage Blanc, as Ceraso and Kretzmer grew more comfortable with one another’s taste, stylistic direction, and musicianship as the studio hours filled up. What was initially a way to split an EP together eventually became a full band with even fuller aspirations. Once the duo began learning how to truly work together, finding other members seemed easy. The others joined shortly thereafter, perhaps showing that it is a lot easier to find collaborators once one has already successfully collaborated with another that possesses ideas that are initially in slight contrast to one’s own. Mariage Blanc was put into motion from this point, and with the release of Broken Record they look to expand beyond the borders of Pittsburgh and into a national audience that should be very receptive toward their masterfully crafted indie-rock.

Mariage Blanc’s Broken Record shows a group that is simultaneously content with ‘60s pop and modernistic production. Wurlitzers, brass, synths, and strings complement the conventional indie-rock arsenal of guitars and rhythm to stir up a wonderful array of melodically rich songs, never lacking in hooks or fresh ideas. The overlapping vocal harmonies and big-time psychedelic choruses suggest a retro feel, but polished production and songcraft allow both the charm of nostalgia and preciseness of technology to exist within the same realm. “Marquee” starts off quite naturally with a rollicking guitar solo, tidied up into a simple progression once Ceraso’s serene vocals reflect a bouncy synth melody. The song often jumps between boisterous guitars and the quaint twinkling of keys and synths, the latter being best used around 02:03 when tremolos of strings signal an alteration in melody and stylistic direction (indie-rock exuberance to chamber-pop elegance). “Sunken Ship” is another excellent effort that features mariachi horns, strings, and guitars to a stunning effect, resulting in one of the most sweeping engagements on Broken Record. The EP’s opener, “Contrary to Popular Belief”, is mellower with its acoustic guitars, xylophone-like keys, and use of woodwinds, but it still packs the same emotional punch as “Marquee”. The vocals here whisper enticingly, creating an inviting atmosphere that succeeds because it attempts stylistic marvel without detracting from the substance. The cheery bursts of keys at the end are an excellent touch as well, wrapping up a gorgeous song that begins an excellent EP in Broken Record.

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Mariage Blanc – Marquee


[audio:http://mineorecords.com/mp3/mblanc-mar.mp3]

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Mariage Blanc – Contrary to Popular Belief

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Mariage Blanc – Sunken Ship

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

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

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

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

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Caledonia – Restless Year

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Caledonia – Scott’s House

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Caledonia – Too Old

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Calling a song “I Wish I Was in Hüsker Dü” seems pretty customary for a high school band. Maybe not today, but we can be sure that high school in the mid-‘80s consisted of many kids that would give up their newest cassette player to be in Hüsker Dü, R.E.M., or any other successful alternative-rock group of the era. Music-related dreams like these inhabit the minds of many artistically inclined high school students, as the end of high school generally marks a point where they must decide whether pursuing music full-time is realistic or not. I do not refer to respectable but somewhat conventional tasks like working as a session musician, music teacher, or music journalist, but instead that dream of rock ‘n’ roll stardom that has predominantly existed since the ‘60s among youths exposed to media. Nowadays, this sentiment seems to be replaced by a desire to scream voraciously and wear tight jeans, but that is a whole different story in itself. That Let’s Wrestle would name one of their early songs “I Wish I Was in Hüsker Dü” suggests an immediate influence, not so much directly in regard to Hüsker Dü but rather the era they resided in. Picture a surprisingly effective high school band in the 1980s and you will likely have something that sounds like Let’s Wrestle, a London-based trio that invokes nostalgia and a DIY ideology without lacking in stylistic originality or captivating songwriting.

Listen to Let’s Wrestle for about one minute. Which adjectives would you use to describe it? I imagine that a handful of critics with a nearing deadline would use words like “sloppy” or “awkward”, which is perfectly acceptable if you are a listener that judges a song by its first minute or so. Those with patience, though, will be rewarded unexpectedly and quite memorably. What is so enjoyably unique about Let’s Wrestle is how they exploit this sound of throwback ‘80s garage-rock, surprising listeners with an outstanding flurry of hooks after either opening up clumsily or showing little attempt at innovation. This always turns out to be highly intentional though, as the intricate components of the tracks are exposed after several studious listens. Much like their ‘80s alt-rock influences, Let’s Wrestle deliver a very raw sound that triumphs over its non-polish with solid songwriting, passionate performances, and clever hooks. Being in a high school garage band in the ‘80s was hardly a unique or innovative thing to do, but Let’s Wrestle’s implementation of alt-rock, post-punk, and psychedelia make such a scenario appear desirable because it reminds us of the days when a song did not need over-production and star power to get airtime on a prominent radio station.

Like any band indebted to the engaging force of ‘80s alternative-rock, Let’s Wrestle do have lyrical substance under their addictively concise melodies and the deep, nearly slurring vocals of Wesley Patrick Gonzalez. His vocals usually sound as if he is recovering from a very severe hangover, a very personable delivery that associates well with Let’s Wrestle’s grainy mixture of guitars, keys, and rhythm. Their music formula, Gonzalez’s vocals, and their lyrical content all result in something extremely relatable. In other words, they are the best modern group I have heard that can pass off sounding like a ‘80s garage-rock band. The relation to high school is distinctively reminiscent in their ardent depiction of a popular genre and the adolescent compatibility of their music For their youthful audience, it only makes sense that most of the lyrics on Let’s Wrestle’s full-length debut, In the Court of the Wrestling Let’s, involves everything from coping with lost loves to putting on the tea kettle. The latter is covered in “My Schedule”, a steadily trippy journey into a droll life inhabited by routine bouts with errands, forgetting to put the tea kettle on, and coping with lost love. “I wish that you’d call me but you don’t call at all,” Gonzalez says plainly, only to prepare the listener for the prevalent emotions that follow. When he beckons for the object of his affection to call him, Gonzalez’s voice strains and he begins to choke up. The emotion presented here seems genuine, and under the hazy reverberations of organs and whirring guitars it is an extraordinary moment that summarizes Let’s Wrestle’s explosive potential.

The serene woo-ing of the backing vocals in “My Schedule” are sure to send chills up most spines, displaying a side of Let’s Wrestle that is slower in tempo and more gradual in approach than most of the material presented on their 2008 EP, In Loving Memory Of. “My Arms Don’t Bend That Way, Damn It!” and “Tanks” show their post-punk leanings more, resulting in bustling rhythm sections and hooks . Check out the excellent bass line in the excellently paced “Tanks”, an excellent track that blends late ‘70s post-punk with modern art-rock. It sounds as if The Jam and Arctic Monkeys were somehow fused together, complete with Bruce Foxton’s irresistible bass lines and Alex Turner’s straining vocals. Gonzalez’s tone is deeper than Turner’s and most other artists in the genre, so it creates some pretty spectacularly unique moments like on the minimalistic “Diana’s Hair”, where Gonzalez seems to recall vintage Brit-pop with marching band percussion, a patriotically anthemic chorus, and an effective vocal delivery that uses his British accent to its full capacity. The melody here is delightfully bouncy, appearing as something Jarvis Cocker or Damon Albarn might have done during the late ’90s. And although shades of Brit-pop, post-punk, and art-rock appear throughout the album in sporadic doses, In the Court of the Wrestling Let’s is predominantly an ode to the diversity that quality ‘80s alternative-rock exhibited. And because of that, with their original hooks and stylistic variations, Let’s Wrestle’s full-length debut proves to be an eclectic release that finds a rookie band in the rare position of being fully confident and prepared for their stylistic direction, whichever way that might be.

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Let’s Wrestle – My Schedule

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Let’s Wrestle – Tanks

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Let’s Wrestle – Diana’s Hair

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