by Mike Mineo

The last track on Pepper Rabbit’s new album, Red Velvet Snow Ball, is a great example of the duo’s strengths. “Tiny Fingers” is lush and exotic, with sounds of broken sitars, brass, and wind chimes backing a gentle acoustic strum. Like everything on Red Velvet Snow Ball, it would be the perfect accompaniment to a day of greenery – lying in the green grass, staring at the green trees swaying above you, and perhaps indulging in something that would make the sky appear green. Pepper Rabbit produce songs that excel with a similarly breezy nonchalance, alert enough to cohesively execute layers of gorgeous arrangement but lost enough to become intoxicated by the hypnotic sound – which alternates from boisterously anthemic psych-rock to luxuriant piano-driven pop. It’s an album that finds Pepper Rabbit expanding their strengths toward their most unified effort to date.

On “Rose Mary Stretch” a gentle acoustic guitar delivers a simple and appealing set of quarter notes, which creates a rippling effect pronounced by the xylophone-like synths. The explosive chorus that follows is hardly unpredictable or breathtaking, but provides an enjoyable moment that is best performed during its last instance – when well-executed percussion builds up in perfect alignment with singer Xander Singh’s nasally anthem-ready voice. It’s an accessible song, though certainly one of the tamest on Red Velvet Snow Ball in terms of experimentation and mood. Pepper Rabbit are not the type to stretch their legs out and produce lengthy experimental jams; rarely are their songs over four minutes. However, while remaining in psychedelia they focus on several interpretations of the style – most often implementing contemporary elements of electronic-pop akin to groups like The Helio Sequence, Metronomy, and French Kicks. They tout electronic influences, but never let them overpower the firmly entrenched psychedelic-rock flair.

“Family Planning” is crisper, more sonorous psychedelia drenched in prominent bass and trickling electronic keys. The shrill siren-like sample that permeates before the chorus is backed by a gentle organ, both combusting when the harmonically enhanced verse returns. This bridge is far more interesting than the group’s straight-cut efforts like “Rose Mary Stretch” and “Lake House”, though the latter is jubilant and hazily infectious enough to serve as a joyous opener. It resembles relaxed yet joyous Brit-pop of the ‘90s, the sort where sunshine breaks through – think Supergrass’ Life on Other Planets or The Charlatans’ Tellin’ Stories. Then some Blur comparisons arrive with the stomping keys of “Allison”, nearly resembling “Charmless Man” in its initial excitement. “Allison” is more fragmented, with tingly key tremolos serving as the main force against the spontaneously designed vocal melodies. Simple as it may be, the fluttering piano melodies retain a gorgeous quality throughout. It produces a variety of durable hooks reminiscent of key-laden acts like Matthew Sweet and B.C. Camplight. Plus, the finale – which incorporates fuzzy synths over overactive keys – is wonderful.

The serene pace of “The Annexation of Puerto Rico” brings to mind both Scritti Politti and Blind Melon, with hazy strumming and gentle guitar-pop vocal accompaniments. It begins to wear thin by the second minute though, and it ends up being twice as long as it should be. The same can be said for “Murder Room”, which attempts a lovable sort of pop clumsiness but falls short due to the sheer lack of hooks. These two tend to be the only tracks on Red Velvet Snow Ball absent of such moments, with fascinating psych-pop hybrids and gorgeous key-laden ballads (“In Search of Simon Birch” + “The Ballad of Alessandro Moreschi”) providing both the emotional punch and gorgeous interweaved compositions that “Annexation” and “Murder Room” lack. In general, Red Velvet Snow Ball is a gorgeously produced album with gems of both the psych-rock and soft-pop categories.  At times Pepper Rabbit resemble recent electro-pop/psych-rock hybrids like The Helio Sequence, while others trace back to late ‘80s/early ‘90s modes of piano-dominated pop music in the vein of Scritti Politti and a handful of successful Brit-pop experiments.

Top Tracks: “Tiny Fingers”, “Family Planning”, “Allison”, “Dance Card”

RIYL: The Helio Sequence, Metronomy, French Kicks, HAL, Scritti Politti, Supergrass, The Charlatans UK, Blur, B.C. Camplight, Matthew Sweet, Blind Melon, The Morning Benders, Surfer Blood

Pepper Rabbit – Tiny Fingers

Pepper Rabbit – Rose Mary Stretch

Pepper Rabbit – Murder Room

Kanine Records / MySpace / BUY

The post Pepper Rabbit – Red Velvet Snow Ball (2011) appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Being billed as the UK’s answer to Kings of Leon immediately lumps a rather large weight on the shoulders of London trio Them Changes. But nevertheless, that seems to be the word about town.

Not bad for an act that started its life as Michael Kiwanuka’s backing band. They eventually decided to form their own group last year, and now they’re being managed by Steve Whiteley (formerly of ATC Management). Their debut single “Lie to Me” features catchy, wailing vocals with huge guitar riffs and vocal harmonies – catchy enough for commercial appeal without alienating their already growing ‘Camden crowd’ fan base.

The trio have managed to nudge their way into a scene which is crowded with gimmicky indie outfits, and they have done so partially through their new single release. Another reason is  their open-to-fans party “Hooligan Soup”, which they host once a month at The Wheelbarrow in Camden. Them Changes select the support acts for the night. With packed crowds flocking to the venue, it seems to be working. The live shows are very impressive – the kind of gigs that involve people leaping from big speakers and jumping ten feet into the air to get the crowd moving.

It was at this night that the boys met Jack White, who has since reportedly kept in touch with them since after listening to their set. The video which accompanies “Lie to Me” is conceptually daring. Firstly because it’s a montage of historical liars, including clips of Tony Blair talking at the Chilcot Inquiry into the Iraq War and clips from Springer and The Jeremy Kyle show. But also because it doesn’t actually feature the band themselves, despite being their first real introduction to the national scene. Allow their exposure’s chance to sit with quality blackjack games.

With several further releases planned before the end of the year, we may see a little less mystery from the trio. Until then, Them Changes are encouraging people to confess to their biggest lies, giving away a free exclusive track to the winner of whoever has the biggest and best lie (entered in the comments section beneath their new “Lie to Me” video on YouTube).

Editor’s note: They describe themselves as a “psychedelic space-punk power trio” but are much more accessible than that. Them Changes are a straightforwardly infectious recollection of ’90s British alternative, particularly of the more radio-friendly groups that pursued both intellectual Brit-pop and radio-access alt-rock. Their youthful energy and readily available hooks make them poised for success in the UK and potentially overseas, though chances are at this point  they remain a distinctively British success story. This is simply because many of their influences were just that. Nothing wrong with that though.

RIYL: The Verve Pipe, Arctic Monkeys, The Kooks, Collective Soul, Dog’s Eye View, Milburn, Seven Mary Three, The Fratellis, Tonic, The Little Flames, Klaxons, Supergrass, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Kasabian, Gin Blossoms, Fastball

Them Changes – Lie to Me

Them Changes – In the Dark

Official Site / MySpace / BUY

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by Mike Mineo

Neil Hannon’s talent is not to be doubted, as few artists are able to establish such a prominent solo career without prior recognition through another project. The Divine Comedy, Hannon’s only project, has produced ten albums in twenty years, not one of them faltering or even suggesting a sign of his abilities fading. The Divine Comedy’s fourth album, Casanova, made him a star in 1996 with an addictive presentation that was personable enough to be pub material, all while showing more intelligence and wit than most peers. His narrative focus, quivering tenor, and delightful array of pop-fueled hooks made his music sit well with fans at the time, especially considering that similar groups were finding rampant popularity at the time. This was especially true for British audiences. Pulp were finding even grander fame in Different Class, released just a year before Casanova, and other popular ’95 Brit-pop albums like Blur’s The Great Escape and Oasis’ (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? encouraged the lyrical playfulness and topically British demeanor of frontmen like Hannon or Blur’s Damon Albarn.

Like all the leaders of former Brit-pop phenomenons, Hannon has taken some interesting turns now that the stylistic heyday is over. In its aftermath, some artists like Albarn rose to even greater fame through stylistic transition (Gorillaz). Others, however, like Oasis fizzled to little beyond ’90s playlists. All have attempted some twist on their style, so one would expect Hannon to do the same. For the most part, while he has certainly pursued various concepts, Hannon sounds very little different from the days of Casanova. When one sees that Hannon is more in the singer/songwriter vein than Albarn, the Gallagher brothers, or even Jarvis Cocker simply by noticing the consistency in his discography, his stylistic rigidity is not that surprising at all. And while he is far from a household name beyond the UK, he packs a very deserving fanbase that still feel as if they know the world’s best secret. Hyperbolic as it may seem, I would be hard-pressed to argue with them in terms of pop songwriters. There simply have not been many as greatly consistent as Hannon.

The Divine Comedy’s tenth album, Bang Goes the Knighthood, offers no surprises for longtime fans. As usual, Hannon’s wit and playful observations are suited over a catchy variety of orchestral accompaniment, acoustic-laden folk, and other elements in a pleasant medium between folk and pop. Apart from the operatic distinction between the tears of children and men in “When a Man Cries”, the album is a generally lighthearted affair fueled by easily accessible pop songs with the twinkling choruses and orchestral flourishes one has come to expect from Hannon. “I Like” is a more typical rendering of the album’s mood. It finds Hannon literally listing the things he likes about his muse – her nose, hair, whether she’s clothed or she’s bare, her suits and her trousers, her mild political stances, her wild spontaneous dances… oh, and the way she whispers sexy things into his ear. On the lyrical end, this is like a grad student reverting to elementary school form; one would expect this impulsive list-dependent mode of songwriting to be acceptable for a rookie artist, not someone of Hannon’s experience. Apart from the dull lyrics, the music – while numbingly simplistic – is catchy enough to stymie the track’s total irrelevance.

While “I Like”, “Island Life”, and “The Lost Art of Conversation” are examples of Hannon focusing on musical content over lyrics (and often finds him just name-dropping people, items, or actions), the cheesiness of these efforts come across more gracefully when sentimentality is more prevalent, as is the case with “Have You Ever Been in Love?” Like “I Like”, the lyrics are list-dependent as Hannon lists the symptoms of love – like figuring out the meaning of life by looking in someone’s eyes, or floating freely into the sky as if the laws of physics don’t apply. That sort of stuff, with the catchy rhyming schemes and elegantly appropriate ballroom music, works better because it does not feel over-the-top. “I Like” is just an example from Songwriting 101, though, and Hannon is above that.

“Bang Goes the Knighthood” and “At the Indie Disco” both attempt the storybook-like narrative of classic examples like “Lady of a Certain Age” or “Our Mutual Friend”, deploying an urgent first-person delivery that is in contrast to most other efforts, which are more descriptive and often spoken in the past-tense. As a result, those are more observational tracks, whereas “Bang Goes the Knighthood” and “At the Indie Disco” perform as if they were live-action plays, just like an effort in the vein of “Our Mutual Friend”. The album’s self-titled effort starts out fine, but then in an ominous chorus of strings and organs it begins to sound like a song with two puzzle pieces that simply do not fit. The Medieval gothic effect that this instrumental fusion resonates is interesting, but not nearly executed to its potential. “At the Indie Disco” is an alright song, but it seems like it deserves more time on an Amazon Kindle commercial than a Divine Comedy album. What seems like a desperate attempt to connect with a “scene” comes across as neither enthralling or catchy enough to warrant its status as a single.

The failures on Bang Goes the Knighthood pretty much stop there though, the rest of the efforts stacking up with anything in Hannon’s catalog. “Assume the Perpendicular” is absolutely wonderful, its keys and brass interweaving various vocal harmonies for melodic perfection. Hannon’s vocals here are top-notch, and he seems much more comfortable in this capricious pop setting than the forced play-like setting of “Bang Goes the Knighthood”. This is not to blame on his abilities, but rather the preferential treatment of lyrical drive and the consequential abandonment of musical emphasis. “Assume the Perpendicular”, which excels in both areas, finds Hannon at his best. It reaches dizzying heights as the chorus descends from a grandiose accompaniment of keys and brass into a modest banjo revision. Its structural setup is genius and it is one of those instantly lovable pop songs that will certainly be earning some summer playtime. Opener “Down in the Street Below” packs the same punch in its flawless transitioning from piano-led balladry to an assortment of brass and keys that resemble some circus parade. This particular hook is early indication of Hannon’s craftiness for first-time listeners and should offer a suitable forewarning for those interested in his unique pop output.

“The Complete Banker” pokes fun at the selfish behavior of economical bigwigs, particularly those responsible for what many consider the “second great depression”. “If I say I’m sorry will you give me the money?” Hannon asks before his band kicks into full gear. He pokes fun at the ideology of those that drive in black Bentleys with Margaret Thatcher at their sides, with descriptions like that eliciting a chuckle and head-sway where necessary. The wit here finds the perfect medium between lyrical and musical entertainment that duds like “Bang Goes the Knighthood” and “Island Life” failed to discover. The music itself is bouncy piano-laden pop, with hooks abound in a soaring chorus that makes great use of backing vocals and guitar/bass. The next effort, “Neapolitan Girl”, succeeds in the same style of music, which finds the three opening tracks as the best stretch on the album. “Assume the Perpendicular” is the only effort on Bang Goes the Knighthood that exceeds them. While it is true that this is an album that falls short of Hannon’s best, Bang Goes the Knighthood is still an effort that warrants listening based on its bright moments alone. At the very least, Hannon’s discography is an urgent recommendation.

7.5/10.0

RIYL: Pulp, Jarvis Cocker, Suede, Oasis, Gene, The Auteurs, Luke Haines, The Lightning Seeds, Super Furry Animals, Richard Hawley, Mansun, Supergrass, The Tears, Ocean Colour Scene, Blur, Tindersticks, Manic Street Preachers, The Charlatans UK, The Verve, Ash, The Boo Radleys

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The Divine Comedy – Assume the Perpendicular

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The Divine Comedy – Down in the Street Below

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The Divine Comedy – The Complete Banker

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The Divine Comedy – Beside the Railway Tracks

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