Anticipation can be a relatively deceptive thing. It has no bearing on the actual result of a product or action, even if hype can sway us otherwise. I can only imagine how the few remaining Guns N’ Roses fans felt those 15 years between new albums, only to experience Chinese Democracy as an average release that was typically reflective of aging rockers. For their age and lack of recent experience it was actually pretty good, but “living up to the hype” is difficult to accomplish when years of inactivity build up. It almost seems safer for bands to go with the In Rainbows method, where a surprise announcement was made two weeks prior to release. Although they lack the on and off-stage embarrassments of Axl Rose, the 13 years it took Flotation Walls to release a new album nearly compares to the span of Chinese Democracy. There was no major press coverage for nearly two decades, but those around Flotation Walls’ native city have been following the collective for quite some time. Columbus, Ohio have been fond of Carlos Avendaño’s various incarnations since 1996, when the first conception of Flotation Walls was introduced. The long-awaited release of their debut full-length should expand that demographic significantly, as the years of acquired experience has propelled Flotation Walls to territory only familiar to those that are already venerated and influential.

A 13-year hiatus to begin your career is difficult to grasp, but it simply makes Nature one of the most experienced debuts you are going to hear. The release is chock full of so many ideas that it sounds like a band chronicling their career, rather than exposing it to listeners for the first time. It remains stylistically unpredictable without drowning in its own ambition, maintaining the perfect mixture between caressing indie-folk and unclassifiable strokes of genius that encompass parts Afro-pop, yé-yé, and IDM electronica. Part of this multifarious brilliance can be attributed to Avendaño’s patience, which restrained him from even working on Nature until 2004. This allowed nearly a decade of practice and thought before even starting Flotation Walls’ sprawling debut, which sounds more polished and confident than most releases in the flexible genre of art-pop. The group relies on choral odes, sweeping orchestral accompaniments, and stylistic precision as their primary strengths, touching upon both theatrical alt-rock in efforts like “Frozen Lake” and haunting psych-folk in “Kids, Look at the Waves”. Both make excellent use of vocal samples, placed and used accordingly in relation to the style at hand. The chugging and solemn acoustics of “Kids, Look at the Waves” are accompanied by a chorus of what sounds like a cross between a hushed church choir and a procession of pleading spirits. As Avendaño propels his narrative sputtering into a full-scaled fury, the percussion intensifies as the backing samples convey more prominence. It is one instance of many in which Nature provides the listener with extreme depth in regard to both musical layers and emotional precision.

Nature is ambitiously successful without appearing pretentious because of its shared use of both the conventional and avant-garde, with the latter often appearing more subtly in tracks that initially have the feel of a radio-friendly gem. “Frozen Lake” inherits a very traditional structure and anthemic sort of bleakness, though there remains certain components like reversed strings, reverbed whistling, and whirring crescendos that make this more reminiscent of post-rock. Like many of the tracks on Nature, its somber instrumentation collides wonderfully with optimistic lyrics that often use nature-oriented imagery as metaphors to life’s routinely struggles. “They watch as we mate and cross-pollinate from nests and hives,” Avendaño sings with glee over polka-like accordions on the opening “Sperm & Egg”, reminding me distinctively of the theme surrounding Mirah‘s Share This Place: Stories and Observations (a concept album revolving around the lives of insects). Like Mirah or contemporaries in the vein Of Montreal, Flotation Walls implement thematic progressions with ease over ambitious stylistic works despite any impulsive instances of sloppiness that may serve as a consequence. Those moments are rarely found on Nature, from to a delicate piano-led ballad in “The Sky Ejaculates”. A ballad, that is, until a beautiful array of woodwinds and hectic keys lead a conclusive charge of brilliance. It is exemplary of the group’s rash and unpredictable structural nature, a tendency that works to their benefit throughout Nature. They hold nothing back and stunning melodies are constructed as a result. If listeners can exemplify even half the patience Avendaño did when creating this album, they will be greatly awarded.

“Although I hate my face, although I take up space, the sky ejaculates,” are words spoken on the previous track, and although it serves as an interesting albeit simplistic poetic gesture it avoids placidity through its accompaniments. Nature almost plays like a musical in that sense, since Avendaño articulately arranged each track in accordance to the lyrical content at hand. This particular moment of “The Sky Ejaculates” is exposed when Avendaño’s vocals are growling with predetermined angst, a tidbit that would have never been predictable at the serene, key-driven opening of the song. “The Flickering Projection” and “Willis the Fireman” are more conventional in this sense, with their respective aims in psyche-rock and indie-pop, but still maintain their melodic and narrative allure through some excellent instrumentation and vocal performances (which listeners will grow accustomed to by the album’s third or fourth track). Ryan Stolte-Sawa provides quite a bit with his contributions on piano, synthesizer, and violin, while bassist Zak Moses and drummer Luke Brevoort comprise a very active rhythm section that is most impressive on an effort like “Worms”, where the trickling of percussion often resembles a growing infestation that grows in alliance with progressing guitars and synths. When the imminent explosion of anthemic bliss occurs with all sorts of brass, choral samples, and rhythmic expression, it should properly prepare listeners for an album like Nature. This is one of those rare releases that accomplishes intricate ambition without pretentious consequences, which is an association only the most inventive and confident can avoid.

RIYL: Of Montreal, Mirah, Arcade Fire, Radiohead, The Polyphonic Spree, Bryan Scary, Architecture in Helsinki, Kings of Convenience, Grandaddy, Tripping Daisy, The Flaming Lips

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Flotation Walls – The Flickering Projection

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Flotation Walls – Frozen Lake

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Flotation Walls – Kids, Look at the Waves

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Flotation Walls – Sperm & Egg

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The post Flotation Walls Require Patience appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

The month of October always seems to root out the Album of the Year contenders, making this and November one of the most active months in new music releases. Similar to the several months preceding the Academy Awards for film, many marketing agencies and labels are thrusting out the last of their ’09 products before focusing on the new year. This includes everyone from veterans (The Flaming Lips) to newbies (Surfer Blood), each providing their fanbase with an early gift for the holidays. This month provided everything from infectious electro-pop (UltraChorus, Midnight Juggernauts) and ambitions psych-rock (The Flaming Lips, Her Vanished Grace) to indication of several stylistic revivals in the vein of surf-rock (Surfer Blood) and psychedelic electronica (Washed Out). Even unclassifiable artists like The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble  and Lymbyc Systym provided focused and memorable efforts this month, making October 2009 unsurprisingly a month where artists of all different genres find a meeting point in their qualitative nature.

01. Surfer Blood – Take It Easy (post)
02. Washed Out – Belong (post)
03. Total Babe – Bearbones (post)
04. Midnight Juggernauts – This New Technology (post)
05. The Flaming Lips – Convinced of the Hex (post)
06. Tim Williams – Ozone Street (post)
07. A Brief Smile – Bigger Lies (post)
08. UltraChorus – Bestin the Farther (post)
09. Her Vanished Grace – Blue (post)
10. The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble – Embers (post)
11. The Library – Tomorrow Is Better (post)
12. Aficionado – The Myth About Real Life (post)
13. Lymbyc Systym – Ghost Clock (post)

DOWNLOAD ENTIRE COMPILATION>>> (52.3 MB, .RAR)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Lymbyc Systym – Ghost Clock

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Lymbyc Systym – Shutter Release

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Lymbyc Systym – Teddy

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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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The post A Strange Arrangement With Mayer Hawthorne appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

It is hard enough to stand out in the music industry, both in regard to the attention one receives and how long they are able to endure standing there without recognition. It is both literal and interpretive here, as a feeling of prominence undoubtedly effects one’s willingness to remain in an industry. In regard to the industry of music, it is difficult to name many other occupations that possess more unpredictability than that one. And on that note, forget about how the country or even the region recognizes them. Getting noticed by your locality cannot simply be an assumption. It is a triumph for some bands to be written about on the back page of their local paper, while others find insufficiency in an above-average review from Rolling Stone. Most newcomers, though, will find excitement in any sort of exposure. For that, I feel some sympathy for artists residing from Brooklyn. Sure, Grizzly Bear and TV on the Radio may be the area’s most popular contemporary acts, but that statement’s arguable nature simply shows how ample Brooklyn is with great acts; it is the rare instance of a local scene being both agreeably quantitative and qualitative. But it begs the questions, could a local scene ever be overpopulated by too many worthwhile acts? After all, we do need to go to work and get the recommended seven hours of sleep.

The obstacles for artists in artistically overcrowded localities are abundant, even if the issues often are prevailed by the privilege of living in an artistic community where inspiration is vastly accessible. In an area like Brooklyn though, I could only imagine the artists being more frustrated with the press’ selection process than the sheer concept of competition. To expose the already-exposed seems to be the norm, with superfluous addition of information (their favorite food, more influences, etc.) apparently compensating for the feeling of something fresh and exciting. For a stable artist intent on just creating music, this can be quite discouraging in the face of innovation. But for an artist like Kordan, who fuses a fresh and polished style of electro-rock with an urban-like rush, these deprived circumstances can be manipulated to his favor. When you have material as great as Kordan does in a place as thriving as Brooklyn, the experienced understand that patience is all one needs to eventually obtain success. Why I think Kordan’s success is imminent certainly has something to do with his music, but perhaps more so in how he reacts to the prospect of fame even if it has not arrived yet. It must be a city thing.

Kordan could modestly note that he’s opened for the likes of Cut Copy before selling any song or release, but the low-key Brooklynite does not approach success that way. He writes on his own blog about the art of others, not how his own project is on the verge of widespread recognition. Usually treading toward the avant-garde, featured artists on the blog like Pedro Vilas-Boas and Tatsuyuki Tanaka embody both the unknown and groundbreaking in the non-musical side of art. On the more audible end, Kordan is practically their equivalent. While working on a contemporary canvas that utilizes high-end electronic production to create shimmering works of memorable pop music, the embodiment of Kordan’s work is too distinctive and layered to be singularly grouped in the vein of electronic-pop. Like the avant-garde artists he adores and features, Kordan interprets and relays music differently than others within a similar realm. These include acts along the lines of Cut Copy and Chromatics, all very respectable electronic acts that infuse similar formulas of instrumentation and production but proceed to make their work individualistic through other, more discreet means.

While some electronic-rock acts utilize samples, stylistic fusions, and other forms of thematic quiltwork to establish cohesiveness, Kordan simplifies this dramatic struggle with precision. His debut EP, Fantasy Nation, contains a mere five tracks but each one possesses a different approach that summarizes Kordan’s intent beautifully. The EP’s self-titled cut is a translucent gem that takes the swift guitar work of Cut Copy and plasters it on the ’80s new-wave-inspired vocal techniques of groups like Cut Copy, who often worked their grandiose choruses using rhythmic prominence and abruptly increased vocal reverb. “Fantasy Nation”, along with several others on the EP, seems to incorporate guitar work that is not there for intricacy or dramatics, but rather as a supplementation of sorts. The rhythm section, powerful vocals, and subtle components of the great production is what truly establishes Kordan as something special. With “Fantasy Nation” serving as an up-beat replica of this decade’s trend in electronic-rock, the following “Tokyo Tears” is eventually more resounding as a somber look back at ’80s post-punk. The brooding bass line seems to pummel through the thick wave of reverb, making Kordan’s vocals nearly inaudible above being a moody whimper. When associated with the chilling guitar work though, it plays off extraordinary as one of the most ardently effective efforts on the EP.

“Slouchy Girl”, Fantasy Nation‘s closing number, is also noteworthy for being completely different than everything else on the release. With its strings, soft acoustics, and background coo’s, it almost sounds like Voxtrot acquired a stronger vocalist and started writing better songs. It is fun and catchy to be sure, and more than assurance that Kordan is vaster than a one-trick-pony. This phenomenal EP could have told you that by itself though. Fantasy Nation is one of the most memorable debut releases of the year, and listening to it shows why Cut Copy demanded Kordan to be their opening act last year after hearing the songs on this EP. Although Brooklyn’s bustle has prevented instantaneous exposure, the imminence of Kordan’s success can be easily heard through tracks like “Fantasy Nation” and “Tokyo Tears”. With artists like these, there is no such thing as an overpopulation of quality artists. As listeners, it should be our duty to sift through them in knowing that their locale provides more inspiration than most.

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Kordan – Fantasy Nation

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Kordan – Slouchy Girl

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Kordan – Tokyo Tears

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Download four tracks from Fantasy Nation for free here.

The post Kordan’s Fantasy Nation appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Most of the time, this site features artists that are deemed “obscure” despite some recent buzz. An artist previously covered by a major publication is rarely featured, mainly because I would feel irrelevant in writing about something already exposed and beaten to death. Nonetheless, the artists that are featured usually have recent buzz or praise that led me to them in the first place. Submissions are a major part of discovering a feature, but occasionally I stumble upon a band on my own that is in dire need of recognition. Even if I tend to appear in the first wave of press, I am rarely the first or second publication to cover a specific band. But when it happens and I become enamored with an artist that possesses little current fanfare or press, I find the coverage to be even more personally rewarding. For one thing, I know increased exposure is practically imminent for the given artist, and being in that “first wave” of press allows me to hypothesize the artist’s eventual impact without any unintentional bias supplied by other sources of information. Sure, I found The Yes Pleases because their album was submitted to me, but when I started listening to their material I expected a boatload of info and praise online just due to the quality of the submitted album alone. Surprisingly, I was wrong. This group’s period of big recognition is imminently ahead of them.

To The Yes Pleases’ credit, getting recognition in Seattle is like trying to stand out in a the crowd of any major city. There is so much to see and listen to that it is not rare for a local act to go overlooked, regardless of their quality or potential. Their appearance is practically a vague enigma at this point, amassing less than 5000 views on MySpace and supplying a few non-descriptive sentences for their bio. Something tells me they should update it soon though; their amount of plays should be increasing very soon. Clearly a young DIY group, the four-piece from Seattle strikes any listener as the antithesis of a pretentiously consumed indie-rock band. They list their influences in conventional form, listing everyone from The Beatles to John Coltrane as an influence; like most level-headed groups in or recently out of college, they recognize influences as the sounds that shaped them, not necessarily which groups they sound most like. If that was the case, late ’80s and early ’90s alternative-rock would fit them nicely. Think Sebadoh, Dinosaur Jr., and Guided by Voices as the basis for their guitar-based sound. Add in a few contemporary electronics, like gurgling synths and polished production, and you have the general sound of The Yes Pleases’ debut album.

From Whence It Came is The Yes Pleases’ debut, but the maturity expressed on the album would suggest they have been working together longer than that. Although their sound is often rooted in a consistent re-interpretation of early ’90s alternative and grunge, their reluctance to stray within one context or era is commendable for a band as young as they are. In fact, the album’s opener hardly abides by any past stereotypes. Similar to the way My Morning Jacket’s recent Evil Urges saw fresh experimentation go hand-in-hand with expected sounds of the past, From Whence It Came is a predominately alternative album that begins with a track more reminiscent of electronic-pop and dance. Vocalist Josh Bate usually sounds most influenced by ’60s pop and ’90s alternative with a retrospective whimper that alternates in tone, but the opening “Designer” finds him more synchronized with ’70s disco than anything else. A few cheap-sounding synths illustrate a repetitive guitar melody nicely, along with a chant-along chorus that almost sounds cheesy enough to serve as an interlude for Project Runway. I am not particularly fond of this effort, but I commend the group for attempting an opener that truly defies what the rest of the album brings. It makes things a lot more unpredictable throughout, which can be beneficial for a group of The Yes Pleases’ young nature.

To get a sense of where The Yes Pleases’ are truly coming from, the second effort on the album shows that well. “70%” cranks up a trashy guitar progression that are eventually complemented by a subtle whiff of high-pitched keys. Unlike “Designer” though, these are too minimal to take hold of the track and alternate its genre. Bate’s vocals show their true power here, recalling both Frank Black and Robert Pollard in his alternation between gruff choruses and high-pitched emotive choruses. The intensity and energy is never lacking, and “70%” is one of the best efforts on the debut with a remarkable chorus that evolves very intelligently from a linear melodic progression. The album’s self-titled track brings us back to their ’60s pop influences, especially when it introduces a psychedelic chorus that brings parts Sublime and parts Zombies to the forefront; the interweaving of various vocal melodies over the hazy keyboard progressions are some of the best moments on the album. The latter part of the album offers up more memorable efforts, both in the intensified vein of rockers like “Don’t Say We’re There Yet” and charming acoustical, key-based tracks like the oddly titled “Successful Face Transplant”. The former of the two is one of the best displays of Bate’s vocals as well, possessing a soaring Jim James-like voice that can make even the simplest progressions sound grandiose and anthemic. The quality of From Whence It Came is not to be doubted, only this group’s direction. Judging from this though, evolution seems to be likely, eventually propelling The Yes Pleases to great heights that their evident talents will dictate.

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The Yes Pleases – From Whence It Came

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The Yes Pleases – 70%

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The Yes Pleases – Don’t Say We’re There Yet

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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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To successfully imitate a foreign musical tradition, there must be a regard for both the cultural relevance and stylistic composition of the music. I am not referring to subtle hints of African percussion in dance-pop or the forced use of a sitar or balophone, but rather a cumulative creation of the music’s role in the country it originated from. Discovering this cultural importance is often something that only natives can relate to, as one cannot simply learn the tribulations of growing up in a certain country from a dramatized textbook. For an artist to truly grasp their foreign influences, they must look further than the instrumentation used and the accustomed time signature. And to truly become a part of a different culture, one of the biggest barriers to overcome is linguistically based. Communication is essential to separate one’s self from the position of a tourist, as the knowledge and friendships acquired from the common bond of language results in a new perception that relies more on human interaction than placid observations. To implement foreign ideas into compositions whose audience is primarily domestic is a risky venture, but it is hard to find a great songwriter that is not a risk-taker.

When Paul Simon released “Mother and Child Reunion” in 1972, it was one of the first attempts by a white musician to imitate reggae. The song appeared on his first solo album, prompting an ardent reaction due to the accessible folk-pop that Simon & Garfunkel popularized throughout the ‘60s. As his first and later releases would prove though, it was the first move of action in a solo career undoubtedly inspired by a variety of foreign musical ideas. The song did very well on the charts, with the fantastic result overlooking the fact that Simon had actually recorded the song in Jamaica. This hands-on approach was something that was echoed throughout his career, both in his infatuation with mbaqanga and folk. The Beatles had imitated reggae more subtly with “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” in 1968, and their relationship with middle-eastern music is no secret (nor was George Harrison’s documented visits to the middle-east). What Simon and those four lads from Liverpool indicate is the proper treatment of infusing foreign ideas into popular American music, allowing their works to serve as a potential influence for contemporary artists that seek to expand their musical horizons into something new, exciting, and rarely heard in their own country. They traveled to destinations where the style originated or was popular, worked with the leading artists in those fields (Jimmy Cliff, Ravi Shankar), and used these experiences to ease the western public into musical styles that may not have originated from their own countries.

Artists like Paul Simon and The Beatles have influenced hordes of followers to be receptive toward the stylistically unknown, but one may also notice that both of these artists did not attempt significant stylistic infusion until the later part of their careers. Simon did not prominently display his African influences until after nearly a decade with Simon & Garfunkel, while The Beatles’ middle-eastern leanings were not exposed until their seventh album, Revolver. Raw musical experience was essential for the infusion of foreign and domestic ideas, so these artists had to wait until they were entirely comfortable with western music in order to tackle the exotic. To compare Hiroshi Kono to legends like these would be premature, but to show such ambition this early in his career suggests Kono is a name that will be around for quite awhile. Under the name of Mar Project, Kono and producer Roger Fife create material that borders on the serenely beautiful and fervently empowering, implementing familiar pop goodness with an ambitious demeanor that rarely is seen among artists in their 20s. This ambition is rooted in Kono’s fascination with varying languages. Their second album, Mar Project I, featured ten songs in three different languages (English, Italian, and Portuguese) with the accompaniments for each track being stylistically appropriate. Hearing the lush sounds of a classical guitar over accentuated Portuguese proved entirely effective, as did the throwback cabaret with seductive Italian musings. For a sophomore release, it was one that defied the qualms concerning ambition that overtakes many songwriters at this early point in their careers.

Mar Project’s newest album, Stepping Stone, finds Kono successfully capitalizing upon the potential exhibited on Mar Project I. This time around, however, the songs are more straightforwardly in the vein of pop music, though that is not to say that his ambition was sacrificed in the process. Kono’s previous album was more direct in its ambition, but the accessibility of Stepping Stone allows listeners to discover Kono’s quirks and diverse tendencies for themselves. The aid of Roger Fife once again aids to this factor of diversity, as his past production work spans from Fatboy Slim to Antony and the Johnsons. Kono’s style of pop is often accentuated with serene synth pads, soft acoustics, and a rhythm section reminiscent of bossa nova, creating for circumstances that are laid-back but also abundant in hooks and durability. The album’s title track is simple at heart, ushering in little more than a simple acoustic guitar during verses dominated by Kono’s distinctive croon. The transition into the chorus is the real treat though, as Kono advises listeners to “open their eyes” as the warm rush of synth pads encapsulate the faint whispers of acoustic and electric guitars. A beauty of a track for sure. “Beacon” recalls The Auteurs’ Luke Haines with an eerie distinction; Kono sounds exactly like the Brit-pop legend, from the samba-based rhythm section to the lush chorus. His vocals possess the same sort of indiscreet swagger, filled with memorable moments that are primarily guided by the excellent relationship between the guitars, percussion, and subtle synths. The acoustic guitar solo that takes place around 02:12 is an outstanding example of Kono’s foreign distinction, cleverly mixing accessible pop with classical influences that turn the track into an unpredictably enjoyable infusion of pop and slight bossa nova.

With “Beacon” serving the first single, “Run” stands as the other one with a brisk demeanor that exposes some apt swiftness on an album full of down-tempo electronics and acoustics. This one seems to have a theme of ambiguity to it, appropriately accompanied by a melody that would feel right at home in a British spy movie. The synth-laced strings only help the case too, as do Kono’s suave vocals and infectious “doo-doo-doo”-ing during the satisfying chorus. Once again, the Luke Haines comparison is prevalent without borrowing entirely from the style he perfected throughout the ‘90s, though a song like “Again” seems more reminiscent of Beck with its heavily filtered vocals and gritty delivery. Here, Kono allows a fluttering array of twinkling synths to accompany the acoustic guitars, eventually sounding like a cross between ‘90s alternative-rock and shoegaze. Comparisons to diverse musicians like Haines and Beck serve Kono well, as he has exhibited a similar amount of ambition since his first release in 2003. Apart from being Kono’s best album yet, Stepping Stone is an album filled with elegant pop music that justifies Kono’s prevalence of influences from the ‘90s. While it may sit comfortably alongside acts like The Auteurs and Placebo that have already seen their heydays pass, Kono’s restraint and foreign ambition provides ample showings of ingenuity in a genre that could really use it. Stepping Stone is a very enjoyable indication of that.

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Mar Project – Stepping Stone

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Mar Project – Again

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Mar Project – Beacon

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Foreign causes are often distinctive enough to warrant recognition on their own. Food is probably the most common instance of this, with the international food industry comprising for a substantial bulk of food sales in the US. After all, restaurants that are in contrast to burger joints and other casual American delicacies offer more than just food. Atmosphere is just as important, and for exotic eateries it can be the difference in retaining a customer or turning them away. There is the actual product and then the appearance, which can either relate to the appearance of the product or the atmosphere in which the product exists. Such distinctions surprisingly overlap into the music industry as well, with the allure of a foreign product being comparable. Audiences become consumed by how songwriting techniques vary from country to country, how these international musicians present their work, and how prominently their influences are displayed (in addition to who their influences actually are). It is a change of pace, and for that audiences may become more lenient or even ignore them altogether due to their foreign status. After all, culture shock can be intimidating and this relates to numerous areas, including food and music. Although their name suggests otherwise, Foreign Born are simply a bunch of guys from Los Angeles. However, their music implies a more collective fusion of influences that makes their presentation distinctive enough for the title.

While Foreign Born’s style shows accessible shades of indie-rock that would be receptive toward most contemporary fans, the diversity presented on their second album, Person to Person, is more indicative of an eclectic fusion of influences, both domestic and international. British rock is certainly a prominent influence for this talented four-piece, citing the Happy Mondays and Echo & the Bunnymen as stepping stones for their guitar-based sound. This British style of rock is fused with classic American songsmiths like Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt, and Harry Nilsson. Their catchy mixture of concisely implemented guitar licks, frantic percussion, and other conventional attributes of art-rock does not exactly coincide with the folksy singer/songwriter musings of Dylan or Nilsson, but their simultaneous ability to combine memorable musical accompaniments and engaging lyrical content is something that combines the broodingly infectious form of British post-punk that dominated the ‘80s and the interpretively heartfelt lyrical content of traditional American folk songwriters. To combine characteristics of two separate genres with differing geographical origins is risky for a young group, but Foreign Born looks to finally prevail with a new album that blends their large assortment of influences beautifully.

To avoid the factor of intimidation that applies to most music with a variety of inspirations, Foreign Born’s new album, Person to Person, has the distinction of treading within a familiar style while exploring new territory in each song. Their first album, On the Wing Now suffered from a lack of cohesion despite some worthwhile standouts, serving as an example of a young band with heaps of potential but a lack of focus. Despite this though, they were proclaimed as one of the most promising groups in the LA area and earned some generally positive reviews. The most prominent aspects of the album included Matt Popieluch’s soaring vocals and Garrett Ray’s outstanding drumming ability. Foreign Born held the distinction of being a group with a capacity for anthemic heart-pumpers, and this is hardly different on Person to Person. If anything, this strength is capitalized upon even more with the expansion of the group’s instrumental repertoire, featuring an assortment of woodwinds, strings, brass, and synths. From the twinkling of synths in “It Grew on You” to the exotic, Lennon-like use of strings in “See Us Home”, there is plenty of eclectic musicianship on Person to Person. This is where the importance of Ray shines more than ever, as he is often the only steady force amongst a flurry of impressive instrumental additions. With an astute ability to turn even the simplest melodies into an intricately empowering force and the overly complex efforts into a more accessible format, Ray is largely responsible for restraining the group’s lofty ambitions to a point where their material is accessible and instantly rewarding.

Staying true to their summery interpretation of indie-pop, “Early Warnings” is a great demonstration of the group’s cumulative melodic capacity and Ray’s largely complementary role in modifying some good songwriting to make it excellent. The lead guitar has the type of twang that one would expect from Little Joy, The Shins, or any other conventionally accessible indie-pop group, but the subtle variations within the track make it a treat that would benefit from a variety of listens. Listeners with a tendency to focus on the percussive elements more than anything (drummers mainly) will likely find themselves impressed at the track’s end, as Ray has a tendency of restraining his percussion when vocals or instrumentation are at full force and knocking out an impressive solo when instrumental minimalism requires it. This results in a plethora of diversity throughout the album, both structurally and stylistically. The feel-good nature of “Early Warnings” benefits heftily from this, as the verse’s lack of frantic percussion complements the unavoidable entry of it in the chorus extraordinarily. “Blood Oranges” also offers an excellent build-up, primarily found in a stunning rhythm section led by Ray and bassist Ariel Rechtshaid. “Anthemic” was a word used often to describe Foreign Born’s debut, and Popieluch’s vocal performance here remains indicative of that as well. On the Wing Now was impressive for a debut album, but Person to Person exceeds it on most fronts in being the summation of Foreign Born’s underrated depth and potential. Merely avoiding the sophomore slump is an achievement in itself, to make an album that trumps an already-impressive debut in several ways is a rare spectacle that is hard to rival.

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Foreign Born – Early Warnings

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Foreign Born – Blood Oranges

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Foreign Born – It Grew on You

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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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