I was a bit weary when Bishop Allen began their EP project, where they released an EP once every month for the entirety of 2006. Why rush artistic integrity and spoil the chances of a full-length masterpiece in the process? Many listeners probably had a similar first impression, but when hearing the type of content that the Brooklyn-based duo produced throughout these 12 EPs it began to make sense. They almost resembled lo-fi bedroom recordings with their amiable DIY dedication, their infectious indie-pop being led by an array of crackling guitars and pianos. Although the sporadic stream of releases prevented much press since most music publications would not dare review the same band every month, the concept alone generated plenty of recognition that brought acclaim for both the band’s work ethic and stylistic focus. To keep listeners coming back every month for a release that hardly varied in style was quite an achievement, and in doing this it represented the duo’s cunning songwriting ability. After the finale of this EP project, it was hardly a surprise when Bishop Allen landed a respectable label deal with Dead Oceans (which involves people from Secretly Canadian and Jagjaguwar) because of this new acclaim.

A Brief Smile are another group out of NYC attempting a similar concept, except this time without the major indie backing and promotion that Bishop Allen had. A Brief Smile has already released three EPs this year, one each on the first Friday of May, June, and July. Whereas Bishop Allen had previously established substantial recognition with a full-length debut in Charm School before undertaking this adventurous approach, A Brief Smile are generally unknowns still looking for their breakthrough. An short 7-track debut, R.E.S.T., was released in 2005 before a full-length album, Now We All Have Horns, appeared in 2007, but there remains a vague enigma surrounding this group. Each of their three EPs this year represent varying stylistic approaches, leaving a sense of unpredictability that can only be positive for a group as young as A Brief Smile, who all met while attending NYU. The estimations surrounding their next album cannot be conventionally hypothesized, as bassist John Carnes explains. “These albums are all different from one another sonically but I think if you really listen to the lyrics, you’ll find commonalities – a kind of narrative that goes from creation to destruction to creation.” This kind of stylistic multifariousness that A Brief Smile have shown despite a limited number of release is what makes them so promising for the future.

A Brief Smile’s absence from touring since August can likely be contributed to whispers of a full-length release. The five-piece is now at work on “a dance record” that uses “dark chugging synths” to pave the way for a return to the band’s pop roots, set to be released sometime in 2010. This return to their pop roots is in reference to their earlier material, which is in slight contrast to the tinge of indie-psychedelia displayed on Sunshine State, the most recent of their three EPs this year. “Animal Magnetism” shows off this psyche side quite well in addition to the five-piece’s versatility. “Do you believe in the hope of a magnetic soul?” DL Tashjian sings over impulsive stuttering of keys, assailing guitar riffs, and bursts of tuned-up bass. Tashjian’s vocals are crisp and delightful, adding melodic variations of vibrato similar to that of Jim James, though comparisons to the powerful quiver of Brandon Summers (The Helio Sequence) is more apt due to the shared uses of soaring melodies within a sparkling blend of indie-rock and electronic-rock. A track like this can be accredited to indie-rock with its conventional structure and length, but at times the soaring guitars make it feel like more of a post-rock effort. When all the instruments condense in the last minute over the hectic pattering of percussion and Tashjian’s echoed moans, it feels as if a ten-minute epic had just concluded. I mean this in the best way possible too; it is a song that makes time move slower due to its psychedelic leanings, while hardly abiding by the stereotype that enjoyment is best identified by time passing quickly.

“Bigger Lies” continues to tout its psychedelic influences like “Animal Magnetism” did, promoting its 4:20 length quite nicely. This is an extremely developmental effort, with a bass-keyboard fusion providing a leading melody that is no more than four notes. This unfolds as expected though, and judging how effective A Brief Smile are in exposing . You can just feel the anthemic section of “Bigger Lies” unfolding as the track progresses, the rhythm section hinting at possible bursts of melodic variation. Tashjian’s vocals continue to solidify any lack of variation that may occur during the track’s early goings, providing plenty of dramatic flair before interesting harmonic combinations and rhythmic appliances are utilized to establish “Bigger Lies” as one of the most convincing efforts of A Brief Smile’s career thus far. It should be the first of many monumental successes for this group . I honestly believe that this tracks will go overlooked simply because songs on 3-song EPs from unknowns generally tend to be disregarded. If these were perhaps put towards their eventual full-length then more exposure would have been imminent, but looking at these three EPs it was clear that A Brief Smile did this for their growing fanbase and not for commercialized potential. With A Brief Smile now hard at work in the studio, we have a gem like Sunshine State to tide us over until their dark, synth-savvy follow-up is released in 2010. Download a few of their EPs for free here or there until then; this level of quality is rarely distributed for free so take advantage of it.

RIYL: The Helio Sequence, Dirty on Purpose, The Happy Hollows, My Morning Jacket, Snowden, Annuals, The Main Drag

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A Brief Smile – Bigger Lies

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A Brief Smile – Animal Magnetism

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A Brief Smile – Honeycomb Shrinking

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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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Continuing with the recent theme of atmospheric pop music that Washed Out and Neon Indian showed us, Her Vanished Grace deliver a similar sort of layer-based sereneness that differentiates itself through dark and moody Brit-rock instead of chilly electronica or sample-based experimentation. By most accounts, Blue is their tenth release of new material since their debut, State of Grace, was released in 1991 with a promising take on atmospheric pop that revolved around assorted guitars and keyboards. Her Vanished Grace’s actual number of releases is somewhat debated due to their cult-like following, which has manufactured many assorted mixtapes and compilations in itself. If one thing is for certain though, it is the rare capability that this band has to remain interesting as time goes on. As their tenth release Blue shows us, it does not take a precise discography for a listener to witness Her Vanished Grace’s maturation. Their initial career reaped from interesting use of post-rock, noise, and shoegaze, wearing influences like Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine on their sleeves despite noticeably lo-fi production that prevented the New York-based group from reaching widespread recognition. Their work still touts those prestigious influences today, but now they infuse more of their originality in an effort to differentiate themselves. So far, so good.

The most recent incarnation of Her Vanished Grace commenced in 2000 with Colors Vols. 1 & 2, when the founding husband-and-wife duo of Charles and Nance Nieland disbanded the initial workings of Her Vanished Grace and combined forces with bassist Maria Theodosiadou and drummer Brian Haarer to form a more full-bodied version of their initial group. A vigorously talented rhythm section and higher-budget recording methods in addition to the songwriter-guitarist husband-and-wife duo paved way for their most successful period in the early to mid 2000s. Five new albums were released after Colors, the most recent being the excellent Blue. Although their success to date has been gaining momentum for several years now, Blue may be the knockout punch that propels this band from obscurity to unanimous acclaim. Charles and Nance met at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art about two decades ago, and ever since then they have been working together to pursue their dream of musical success. Time is only relative for artists, and many may consider success occurring after attributed experience is better than success prior to experience, for it is a factor that is a monumental factor in determining an artist’s durability.

Durability is synonymous with Her Vanished Grace, at least in the sense that longtime fans have yet to be disappointed with the four-piece. Billy Loose has since replaced Haarer on drums but the original duo along with Theodosiadou are still there along with their ambitions. In terms of stylistic exploration, Blue has little to offer in terms of breakthroughs, but their blending of familiar styles like power-pop and shoegaze into one beautiful audible landscape make up for any lack of stylistic innovation. To enjoy Blue one must push aside any stylistic biases regarding shoegaze, as common stylistic elements like reverb and gushing guitars are abundant but not utilized in a conventional manner. Since the melodies are crisp and polished in the form of modern indie-pop instead, the regressing influence is not exposed in the way one might expect. The excellent self-titled track instead reaps from an infectious blend of power-pop and post-punk, being grounded in production techniques involving heavy doses of reverb, thick tremolos, and heightening guitar arpeggios that clash with a bustling rhythm section to consume the listener through both pop-minded appeal and atmospheric vision. Like predecessors in the vein of Sonic Youth and Ride, Blue marks Her Vanished Grace’s true emerging period as a group putting their ambition to accessible use without sacrificing the ingenuity that got them there in the first place.

Although both Charles and Nance contribute vocal duties on Blue, Charles is primarily used due to the way his brooding vocals accentuate the retrospective and forlorn aroma of post-punk and shoegaze most commonly attributed to Her Vanished Grace. The band employs their differing vocal styles well, allowing each specialty to reap from their eclectic use of instrumentation. For instance, Charles is lead on the empowering “Blue”, where a brilliantly moody chorus provides awe-inspiring embrace in washed layers of guitars and synth pads. Its strength is dependent on darkening mood and evolving versatility, growing from an emotive guitar-driven piece to one guided by distinctive layers of sound that accompany a versatile croon that goes from low-pitched to an ethereal chant of sorts with heightened pitch. Charles’ presence is felt in the album’s darker tracks, leaving room for Nance to take control of more lighthearted efforts like “Rush”. With a better grasp of bubblegum-pop or lighthearted indie-pop in the vein of Metric or Mates of State, “Rush” works by using a bunch of repeating guitar chords before exerting itself into a chorus that reminds me of 90s Brit-rock in the vein of PJ Harvey, Black Box Recorder, or even less absurd Morrissey efforts like “Reader Meets Author” with its swirling sort of guitar-based simplicity. Although it strains itself from too much repetition, it is a nice reliever from Her Vanished Grace’s more emotionally complex efforts like “Blue and “Remember”, as enjoyable as they are.

The latter is narrative in approach as Charles and Nance participate in a duet, again retracing their steps to the amiable type of alt-rock that was abundant throughout the ’90s. With Charles’ vocals at times sounding like a cross between Gruff Rhys, Morrissey, and Hayden Thorpe (Wild Beasts), his versatile approach does wonders to this respective style along with the band’s tendency for anthemic hooks. Nance’s contributions contrast somewhat in terms of style, but the parallel creates very refreshing circumstances that are simply a testament to the group’s valuable chemistry. The diversity between efforts like “Blue” and “Rush” summarize the album’s success quite well, as Blue serves as an enjoyable release that relies on the band’s gathered experience in the spectrums of pop music and layer-based atmospherics. Without the experience of nearly two decades I would be surprised if Blue would have even been possible, but Her Vanished Grace have undoubtedly reached an artistic peak by doing so without sacrificing what got them here in the first place.

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Her Vanished Grace – Blue

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Her Vanished Grace – Slip Away

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Her Vanished Grace – Remember

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To describe Aficionado as a sudden output of energy would probably the most accurate, as I doubt many bands possess the cumulative energy of this aspiring ten-piece from upstate New York. Ten members who play everything from exotic woodwind instruments to roaring guitars is not a common group composition after all, so when Aficionado takes the stage I can only imagine what goes through the audience’s minds. It would appear to have such a high potential for sloppiness or thematic pretentiousness based on the visual presentation alone. Laura Carrozza, backing vocalist and flute player, stands apart from the rest of her band members, most of them looking like a mixture of truckers and ’70s revivalists with their long bears and sloppy exterior. What resonates from this collective turns out to be to the contrary though, as this group impresses through a series of highly excitable tracks that embody original ideas and delicious hooks without ever treading too long or too intricately.

Taking a cue from punk acts of the early ’90s like At the Drive-In, Aficionado may initially impose whispers of post-hardcore and/or emo that may scare off many listeners accustomed to indie-rock. What I hope is that listeners give Aficionado a chance, as further listening shows that their ambition spreading across several genres makes them more comparable to groups like Slint, The Pixies, and Chavez. These, of course, are all artists that were integral to the development of today’s indie-rock. Aficionado are simply infusing a slight touch of early ’90s punk (though only the good kind). They make it easy for the desperate journalists by calling their special blend “progressive-indie”. Forming in 2004 amongst a group of close friends, Aficionado blended these influences with tight chemistry and emerged with a well-received album, Circus Music, in 2008. Critics noted the release for its enjoyable energy and strong musicianship, even if the songwriting did not correlate with the potential quite yet.

Their new EP, The Myth About Real Life, was produced by Don Fury in Troy, New York, which is about a ten minute drive from their native Albany. The opening, self-titled track is one that possesses the energy of favorites from Circus Music, with an even more expansive approach that results in newly cohesive song structures in alignment with the impressive multi-instrumentation. The initial brass sounds like an intro to a ska track with its thumping progression, only until a saxophone emerges with a seductive whimper to accentuate the jazz influence. The lead vocals of Nick Warchol emit a nasally, whimpery croon that shows a surprising amount of range among the powerfully alternating structures. The group’s ability to sound anthemic is inarguable. Carrozza’s backing vocals apply to this standard on both the self-titled cut and “The Same Original Idea”.

“The Same Original Idea” increases the dramatics with its introduction as Carrozza frequents more solos and verses over the fragile progression of a piano and delicate woodwinds. What sounds like a potential ballad eventually turns into the same balls-out, rock-filled atmosphere of “The Myth About Real Life”’s heightened moments, only this time with more unpredictable guitar-based transitions that resemble the progressive-rock of Yes, King Crimson, and other prog-rock forefathers. “It was a million and one of the same goddamn thing,” Warchol gripes. The intensity is raw and pure, only eclipsed by the powerful instrumentation and angelic interruptions from Carrozza. “I Don’t Believe We Met” continues in this fusion of post-hardcore, indie-rock, and progressive-rock, showing some epic ambitiousness in the use of keyboards and guitars similar to “The Same Original Ideas”. And although some ideas on the songs tend to repeat themselves in use, the varying approaches make it impressive enough to enjoy with ease. Catchiness and musical chops may eclipse groundbreaking stylistic integration for Aficionado, but with the chops of ten similarly-minded musicians at your disposal it is probably for the better.

RIYL: Slint, At the Drive-In, Yes, Kansas, The Hold Steady, King Crimson

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Aficionado – The Myth About Real Life

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Aficionado – The Same Original Idea

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Aficionado – I Don’t Believe We’ve Met

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Superfluous guitar solos and shoddy production are things that any attentive music fans despises. As fans, we tend to magnify our roles in the whole listening experience to make it seem as if the artist owes us something. As a result, we become more aware and selective in regard to our qualitative standards. Studio albums are obtained for free nowadays with a single click, so this feeling of entitlement usually arises most during live performances. The New Paltz-based group Oryan is one of upstate New York’s most renowned recent acts for their understanding of this ideology. They recognize groups that opt for unnecessary ten-minute keyboard solos or instill production that sounds like “a soundtrack for a torture victim” as projects that take advantage of their attention-demanding status. A focus on the natural and raw seem to appeal to Oryan, but not because they have little resources or motivation. Instead, they view live performances at the most natural, spontaneous, and engaging outlet for listening to music. This also ends up attributing vastly to their sound.

Composed of three Ryans and one Adam, Oryan show some tremendous work on their debut EP, The Ride. Folk, country, and alternative are the main forces at play, with no specific one dominating; all remain consistently in the picture. Vocalist Ryan Megan has a gravelly howl that is one-part Craig Finn and other-part Elvis Costello, shown beautifully in the climactic self-titled track. A country twang is present in the guitars while a slowly evolving rhythm section invokes periodical alternative-rock, led by empowering vocals that could fit in either genre. How the piano, guitars, and rhythm section all eventually coincide toward the latter end of the track shows this four-piece’s strength in its best form. Megan croons his way to emotional heights, leaving no room for the type of filler that studio albums are often so guilty of. Unlike the ten-minute keyboard solos they hate with extraneous spite, this moment is entirely necessary and additive to the track’s flow and feel.

“Manuals” is particularly interesting for its brooding, string-tinged tone of halted and commenced emotive eruptions. Megan alternates from a whisper to a growl as vigorously bustling percussion builds under a coarse guitar tone. The tone established here is clearly of distraught and somber intentions, and how it remains consistent while keeping in mind the original structure and impressive performances makes it truly a remarkable effort. Check out the last two minutes or so when strings, acoustic guitars, and electric guitars combine for one last cry for help. Truly empowering. The same can be said for “Helvetica”, a more repressed effort that features twangy country-folk in a more subdued, loose on the cause of drunkenness sort of ordeal. The flexibility here is again fulfilling though, and it sits quite well between the intense “The Ride” and brooding “Manuals”, especially when it shifts to alt-rock territory during its conclusion. Oryan usually execute introductions that last one or two minutes on each one of their songs, but this again beckons back to their on-stage ideology. They prepare listeners for their works with delicate precision, in most cases being the ushering in of a certain tone or instrumental arrangement. It always works though, and The Ride comes out feeling like a genuinely fresh EP that certainly deserves a listen.

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Oryan – The Ride

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Oryan – Helvetica

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Oryan – Manuals

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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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One of Kill It Kid’s more noticeable trends is their ability to gracefully develop coarse melodies into sprawling emotional epics, as much in their vocal performances as their fury of instrumentation. Turpin and Steph Ward, a pianist and fellow vocalist, create some of the greatest vocal interplays you are bound to hear this year. The five-piece took their name from Blind Willie McTell, a Piedmont blues legend, and Turpin’s vocals pack a similar sense of rawly invigorated passion that is widely associated with the gritty blues-rock of today that is clearly influenced by the bare styles of blues in the past. Ward complements Turpin’s coarsely powerful vocals well, opting to contrast his vocals with a simultaneously angelic and rapturous croon. In the midst of their most powerful duets, it almost sounds like a clash between good and evil. Both vocalists are damn good here though in a qualitative sense though, as if the highly impressive mixture of strings, guitars, and furious percussion was not enough. The group’s blues leanings may lead some to assume they are from the States, but like Bruce Peninsula they show that blues does not have influence strictly on American artists. Kill It Kid hail from the UK, the members growing up around the areas of Bristol and Bath and meeting at the latter’s Bath Spa University. With influences both foreign and native, they have released an album that should amass them a large fanbase with an expansive array of excellent songs that showcase their musicianship, songwriting, and ingenuity in masterful form.

Now that Kill It Kid are signed to one of the UK’s most consistent labels in One Little Indian, success seems imminent. They released their debut single, “Send Me an Angel Down”, in May and have been generating hype ever since. Sporting a graceful arrangement of strings by the talented Richard Jones, “Send Me an Angel Down” was a pretty interesting choice for a single when one considers its depth and structural ingenuity for a debut single. But this is the stuff I love to see out of a young band, taking a risk and choosing to showcase the best representation of their songwriting over one that is potentially the most radio-friendly. This marvelous track grows from a sullen Turpin croon and a soft string accompaniment into one roaring with guitars and percussion, erupting shortly after Ward makes her subtle but important vocal appearance. How the strings gradually go from leading fiddle to collaborating with the guitars and rhythm section is a marvel to witness, as is how both the vocal deliveries of Turpin and Ward tend to variate as the track progresses with youthful glee. It shows that this is a band not afraid to take innovative steps in unveiling their most sincere and forbidden emotions. For a debut album, it is something rare and extraordinary.

For a sound so distinctive and fulfilling, Kill It Kid could have easily provided little diversity in their songwriting and still have resulted in an enjoyable album. But for a group with their apparent ambition, these are inaccurate expectations. “Private Idaho” is one of the few moments where Ward stars with her lead vocals, proving herself to be just as effective as Turpin in the right circumstances. She obviously does not fit as well in the bluesier arrangements, but a nice country-folk number like “Private Idaho” or the dance-room country shuffle of “My Lips Won’t Be Kept Clean” show Ward at her best. The latter is an enthusiastic and fun track, which contrasts some of the album’s strongest material. “Burst Its Banks” plays extraordinarily with the contrast between anthemic string ballads and high-powered guitar anthems, often transitioning unexpectedly but in a way that is unconventionally cohesive. The effort works with extreme precision, specifically the key-aided chorus where both Turpin and Ward relay one of the album’s best moments over a series of twinkling keys and brilliant strings. The string solo that proceeds that is also a spectacle, a technique echoed in the equally powerful “Ivy and Oak”. With its consistency and wondrous array of great moments, Kill It Kid is easily one of the most memorable debuts of 2009 for me. Any fans of folk, blues, or Americana should be in bliss with this album; its confidence and vision is extremely rare for a band of Kill It Kid’s youth.

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Kill It Kid – Burst Its Banks

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Kill It Kid – Send Me an Angel Down

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Kill It Kid – Private Idaho

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

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

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

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

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

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Noah and the Whale – My Broken Heart

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Noah and the Whale – I Have Nothing

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Noah and the Whale – Love of an Orchestra

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With summer in full gear, some artists have to take a temporary backseat to the seasonal bias that is subtly prevalent in most people. For me, choosing an artist to listen to in my free time is not dependent on the weather, but rather my current emotional state and which style I feel would be most compatible with it. However, the seasons do play a role in my selections from time to time. On a beautiful summer day I would probably choose the likes of Springsteen over a gloomier group like Joy Division or The Smiths, with vice versa applying if clouds took the place of the sun. Few can argue that certain music sounds better during certain times and certain weather. With this in mind though, it is worth noting that one’s perception of a suitable atmosphere can be wildly subjective. However, it is hard to make the definition of “summer music” skewed, even if it is up to the listener’s personal taste to compile their own perfect summer mixtape. Contrary to the belief of most mainstream pop artists, a summer hit does not need to have the word “summer” in the title to achieve its status as a seasonal gem. Topics involving big waves, surfer girls, and the boardwalk could help, but it is hardly the most definitive factor.

The word “breezy” has been used time and time again to describe artists with a certain demeanor, one that defies the boundaries of pop without straying too far into hectic structural ploys. This sense of semi-capriciousness coincides with the carefree exuberance that summer often gives off, mainly due to a combination of increased relaxation time and warm weather. Listeners want something that is captivating and original, but not something that is going to detract from their relaxation time with overbearing ambition or artistic flops. The Beach Boys are a rather stereotypical example of a summer group, but also arguably the best one. The bulk of their material was accessible and melodically captivating, but hidden under their receptively good vibrations were reoccurring themes and harmonic intricacies that made their music much more than radio-friendly pop music. Brian Wilson was a songwriter who valued melodic cohesiveness as much as thematic intricacies that was present in both his musical and lyrical content. And with the concurrent themes of riding big waves and basking in the summer sun, I doubt anyone could argue against The Beach Boys being the most consummate summer-pop group of all-time.

It seems unfair to introduce a new songwriter after describing one of the greatest in Brian Wilson, but while Chris Velan does not boast the stylistic innovations or genius-level showmanship of such a predecessor, his potential for producing greatly effective summer pop music is blatant. His songs are often led by tendencies that appear outwardly conventional, like linear guitar progressions in strict 4/4 or the expected assortments of rockers and ballads. But like influences in the vein of Wilson, Velan possesses a creative peak that is unparalleled by most of his contemporaries, even if it is only subtly prevalent. On the surface, his charming blend of acoustical pop, Americanized reggae, and suave R&B may remind some listeners of Jason Mraz or Slightly Stoopid, but Velan’s material is considerably more diverse than either of them. The Montreal native can attribute his eclectic qualities to his forays in music throughout his life, doing it all from fronting a reggae band to scoring music for a film. In addition to this, Velan grew up on both his dad’s favorites (Leonard Cohen, Dylan, Van Morrison) and his sister’s cassette tapes (’80s new-wave). This put him on the path of music at an early age, even if a few pit stops along the way (the lawyer profession, in his case) put the whole solo singer/songwriter thing on hold for a bit. After two overlooked albums though, his third one appears most likely to receive exposure.

Solidago is hardly a showy album, but it deserves recognition for its consistency and melodic goodness. Velan has plenty of good ideas, and even though they are occasionally not expanded upon enough, he is able to capture them without it becoming tireless or agitated. One has to admire him for his diversity, whether it is for the twinkling indie-pop on “Oldest Trick”, the brassy mix of R& and reggae on “Pauper in a Palace”, or the cheery reggae in “Hunting Season”. The latter finds Velan channeling classic influences like Burning Spear and contemporary fusion artists like Michael Franti, with the occasional brass and rhythmic combustions adding nice flair to a genre that has too many imitators and not enough innovators. A song like “Oldest Trick” works with little more than a guitar and synthesizer, the latter arriving most prominently during the anthemic chorus. Velan’s nasally vocals here are reminiscent of Tom Petty’s, which makes for a rather nice tone under an undercurrent of acoustic guitars. It gives off a classic-folk vibe, sitting nicely on the album between the alt-rock leanings of “Wobbly Bones” and the reggae-influenced “Hunting Season”. “No one’s gonna knock on your door,” he sings during “Wobbly Bones”, one of his many comparisons of death to the desire for absolute solitude. It is one of the few showings of bitterness and melancholy throughout the album, but along with the similarly bleak “Out of Range” it shows that his usually upbeat demeanor does not detract from sentimental moments like these. They both reach extraordinary heights.

Velan’s Solidago is not a great summer album simply because it has great melodies that are often accompanied by gentle acoustic strums and Velan’s calming voice. Like Wilson, he also shows a fondness for the art of underlying pop accessibility with further intricacies that involve eclectic stylistic tendencies, thematic consistencies, and differing moods (check out the differences between an optimistic track like “House Upon the Hill” and the somber build-up of “Out of Range”; it is very enjoyable). Velan may come off like just another gifted songwriter with room to grow on the surface, but those who look more in-depth throughout Solidago should be convinced of his potential. Check it out when it is released on July 14th. Its mid-summer release date is quite apt, considering Velan clearly values the true meaning of quality summer music. If you are looking for great tunes that can be enjoyed during scenarios of both relaxation on the beach and thought-provoking conversations with friends, Solidago is the way to go. It is Velan’s finest effort yet.

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Chris Velan – Pauper in a Palace

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Chris Velan – Hunting Season

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Chris Velan – Oldest Trick

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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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