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

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

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

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

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The Cubical – Edward the Confessor

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The Cubical – Like Me (I’m a Peacock)

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The Cubical – Great White Lie

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Dead Young Records

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

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

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

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

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

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Mayer Hawthorne – A Strange Arrangement

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Mayer Hawthorne – Just Ain’t Gonna Work Out

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Mayer Hawthorne – Green Eyed Love

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Stones Throw Records

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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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Solo albums usually require a substantial amount of self-sufficiency. There is rarely a source of constancy apart from the main artist’s output, and external contributions can be skeptical because they are often for-hire, resulting in a false sense of sincerity that could find the release lacking in chemistry and flow. Many successful solo artists first tried their hand at releasing solo material either during or after their participation in a prominent band, conveniently allowing them to capture the attention of many listeners based on their role in a separate project alone. It hardly matters what their actual contributions were too; even if some bassist in a big rock band contributed little to nothing throughout his band’s run, he could release an embarrassing solo album and still see some respectable sales because of his status in a popular rock band. This sort of thing often causes deserving artists to get overlooked. But, as one must remember, the music industry is just as it reads: an industry. To expect quality material to result in recognition is naive, especially as I have learned throughout the years after covering dozens of outstanding artists that would get little recognition in the later years to come. But, in addition to money and reputation, experience also has a lot to do with obtaining success as a solo artist. So, when an independent songwriter like Rishi Dhir releases an excellent debut album based on his own merits and not his previous band’s status, it makes the release even more impressive.

It was merely six months ago when I covered The High Dials, Dhir’s former band. So, when I received Dhir’s first solo release under the name of Elephant Stone in the mail, I figured it was either a nice coincidence or some clever PR marketing (I would bet on the latter). I say it would be nice if it were a coincidence though because of how much I enjoyed The High Dials’ most recent album, Moon Country. Specifically, I urge you to check out my post of the band here for a sample of “My Heart Is Pinned to Your Heart”, an excellent track that proves indicative of The High Dials’ irresistible vein of indie-rock (think British Sea Power meets The Dears). Anyways, back to Dhir. He left The High Dials in 2006, so he was not with them for Moon Country, but still honed his skills with the band for six years and two albums. While with The High Dials, hes howed that he was a strikingly eclectic performer; Dhir played sitar, bass, and contributed some essential background vocals. With this though, one must keep in mind that The High Dials are a good band with a nice release this year, but they are certainly not a brand name. Therefore, what you hear from Dhir and his new Elephant Stone project is the result of his own merits and not the reputation of his past successes. In fact, perhaps one could say he was in the most ideal of circumstances; he played with a very inclined band that gave him some vital experience but they were not renowned enough to give him a false sense of pride and overbearing expectations, which are aspects that often lead to a solo artist’s demise.

After Dhir left The High Dials in 2006, it did not take long for some of Canada’s most respected indie-rock figures to take notice of his chops. Elephant Stone’s debut, The Seven Seas, was eventually produced by the widely respected Jace Lasek, who apart from heading The Besnard Lakes has produced other Canadian indie-rock heroes like Wolf Parade, Stars, and Islands. But before Dhir and Lasek came together, Dhir underwent a period of vigorous study that allowed him to expand as a musician and songwriter. He primarily focused on honing his Indian classical music chops, appearing with his sitar on releases by the Texas-based The Black Angels and Manchester-based The Earlies. This period of study obviously rubbed off on the outstanding quality of The Seven Seas, particularly in ambitious efforts like the seven-minute “The Straight Line”, where the dominant usage of a sitar paves the way for a eventual dramatic infusion of distorted guitars and a funk-based rhythm section. The track consists of little more than a sitar throughout its first three minutes, but the entry of bass and percussion right before the three-minute mark prepares the listener for a guitar-based eruption of sorts that eventually leads to a fantastic overlapping of electric guitars and sitar. To successfully infuse Indian classical music into modern indie-rock is no small feat, and “The Straight Line” serves as a stellar example of Dhir’s musical ability and his ability to implement ambitious musical ideas into styles whose partnerships are highly unconventional. The five-piece of Elephant Stone, led by Dhir, cleverly call this infusion “hindie-rock”; it is a fun term that may be indicative of the recent rise in infusing foreign musical ideas with conventional pop the past few years.

While “The Straight Line” aligns more with Dhir’s unconventionally successful ideas, that is not to say that the entirety of The Seven Seas is filled with songs that require as much patience as “The Straight Line”. In fact, there are plenty of great pop songs on here that provide for a nice tone on an album with occasional epics like the psychedelically shimmering “Don’t You Know” or the middle-eastern influenced “The Straight Line”. “How Long” is one of them, demonstrating a perfect mixture of psychedelia and alt-rock to express Elephant Stone’s style when they tend to be a bit more conventional. The song actually exceeds in sounding a bit like The Stone Roses, whose influence is echoed in this track’s general tone and perhaps literally in the band’s name (“Elephant Stone” – one of my favorite Stones Roses tracks). Although Dhir’s musical roots are Canadian, he even imitates a similarly British delivery as his reverb-drenched vocals gracefully accompany a thickly reverberating bass line with an eerie guitar progression that evolves from a haunting arpeggio to the concise use of chords. “I know that the sun lies eastward, I know where my heart belongs,” he sings during the excellent chorus. “Back home where my love lays waiting, back home where we are one.”

What “How Long” lyrically depicts is rather conventional – a man starved for his love across long distances – but the musical content and structural build-up here is what makes the running emotions so sincere and effective. After the chorus, when “day dawns” and Dhir laments that he is still not near his beloved, the reoccurring chorus several instances later sounds even more effective with its dreamy, retrospective approach. The guitar flows more capriciously with an echoing of Dhir’s vocal melody, but the lack of emphasis on additional instrumentation during this point stresses importance on the ardent vocals that give this track additional life. Overall, it is a fantastic effort that should remind listeners of the music scene in the UK during the late ‘80s with its emphasis on psychedelia and post-rock. With its soaring synth pads and crisp guitars, the equally pop-minded “I Am Blinded” achieves success more directly by a different contrast. The verses here are led by little more than the rhythm section, but the chorus is magnified considerably with the string-like synths colliding with stagnant guitars to create something that is highly anthemic. It is a word that I have used often to describe Elephant Stone’s impressive debut, but crafting anthemic indie-rock seems to be Dhir’s forte. With his added ambition on tracks like “The Straight Line”, it makes for an album with plenty of memorable moments.

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Elephant Stone – How Long

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Elephant Stone – I Am Blind

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Elephant Stone – The Straight Line

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Although they may not realize it, high school students are in incredibly unique circumstances. They have a general comprehension of the occupational process and the basic decisions that mold their future, but their current ideology is often restrained by a state of indecisiveness that makes both their appearance and ambitions a variable that can change at any moment. Unlike adults whose career paths are already defined or children that have little grasp of reputational or occupational advantages, high school students have the privilege of using their sociological and educational experience to actively pursue their most ideal future occupation without it being a detriment to their current standing. This is the primary reason why high school reunions can be so fascinating. Learning that the stereotypical loner developed into a profitable “people person” or that the arrogant prom queen was too embarrassed to show up are just a few examples of the dramatic parallels that end up often occurring. With outcomes like these, predicting someone’s future in high school is impractical due to high range of flexibility that one has in defining who they are as a person. This leads to all sorts of analysis; if I were forced to choose the “group” in high school that held onto their beliefs most durably after their graduation, it would have to be the “artsy” types. Whether in the form of music, painting, or photography, it seemed to me that students who devoted most of their free time to an art made it such a part of their life that abandoning it at any time in their future would be unrealistic.

How this ideology is embedded within the general practice of artistry is commendable, as exhibited by artists that we universally deem as influential. Great artists are often so consumed with their work that not creating art in their field is nearly equivalent to starving for them. If you put a canvas and paintbrush in front of an avid painter and told him not to paint, he would likely rather be told not to eat. Although they may have been classified as “those kids that dress in black and listen to weird music” in high school, the two members in Home Video are further proof of this ceaselessly productive ideology embedded into artists. David Gross and Collin Ruffino met in a high school art class, found an instant connection over the topic of art, and instantly began their collaborative process involving art. Ruffino was one of those kids that wore black and listened to ‘90s alt-rock staples like Smashing Pumpkins and Nine Inch Nails, while Gross was a classically trained pianist who had been sheltered from any type of music created during the twentieth century. Their first collaborative artistic venture was a film that Gross starred in and Ruffino directed, but their musical intentions soon became mutual after Ruffino introduced Gross to contemporary music. Sometimes an artist just needs to be stimulated with a little modernistic relevancy to bring out his true form, and this is exactly what the duo did for each other during the developmentally vital stage of high school.

A sheltered classical pianist and a fan of dark alternative-rock is an interesting mixture to say the least, but it was the similar artistic ideologies of Gross and Ruffino that molded the connection between them and brought them recognition less than ten years after their first art class together. Ruffino had showed Gross that contemporary pop music could be just as emotionally ardent as classical music, and Gross’ natural music ability aided Ruffino when the duo eventually decided to form their own project. Ruffino was wise enough to show Gross a variety of now-legendary albums like Radiohead’s OK Computer and Massive Attack’s Mezzanine, exhibiting a mixture between rock, pop, and electronica. College saw the two separate for a bit, with Gross in Boston studying music and Ruffino in New York studying film. Like all good friends though, they hung out during breaks and continued to write music together from time to time. Once the rush of college had subsided, Gross moved to New York and the duo began creating their first material for Home Video. Their first two EPs, That You Might and Citizen, captured the attention of Warp Records, one of the most prominent labels in all of electronic music. That an extremely prestigious label like Warp released their debuting EPs was simply indicative of the great potential that Home Video exhibited through their ethereal interpretation of electro-rock.

After Home Video’s EPs and their single, “That You Might”, began to attract considerable acclaim in the UK, the recognition started to carry over to the US as well. In addition to being featured in Rolling Stone, they toured with a variety of acts like Blonde Redhead, Justice, and Crystal Castles. Home Video’s debut full-length, No Certain Night Or Morning, was released in 2006 and featured plenty of promising material, but most audiences were still waiting for Home Video to capitalize on their undeniable potential. Seeking the transition that would satisfy fans who were aware of their talent, Home Video took a three year hiatus between the release of their full-length and this year’s release, It Will Be OK. Looking to acquaint listeners with their stylistic progression before the release of their second full-length, the four-track EP is available for free on their web site. As Home Video must have intended, the result is a magnificent leap forward. While their past material may have encompassed too many clichés to separate them from the rest of the electro-rock world, It Will Be OK appears to be Home Video’s first major step forward. The instrumentation never reaches points of startling complexity, but the gradual build-ups and subtle melodic alterations that the duo infuse into each song results in a highly memorable release that takes advantage of their electro-oriented sophistication without ever sounding too overbearing or desperate.

“I Can Make You Feel It”, the EP’s opener, is immediately indicative of Home Video’s growth. I doubt you can find a review that does not compare Ruffino’s vocals to Thom Yorke’s, but instead of the desperate imitation that was occasionally prevalent on Home Video’s past releases, his approach here sounds more natural and adjusted toward Home Video’s assortment of evolving percussion, gradual synth accompaniments, and subtle implementations of guitar. The melodic harmonizing within Ruffino’s multiple vocal layers is what establishes this song as one of their best yet, as the conclusion that sees an appropriate piano accompaniment cap off the song’s most consummate chorus is arguably the EP’s most uplifting moment. All of the tracks on It Will Be OK are hardly complex, and an effort like “You Will Know What to Do” remains reminiscent of the driving pulse present in minimalism. “Every Love That Ever Was” is notable for containing the most pure form of synth-pop on the album, even to the point where comparisons to Junior Boys are realistic. The arpeggio during the chorus may not serve as the most innovative in the duo’s repertoire, but it certainly does enough to get the listener’s emotions running; it is an attribute that Gross deemed impossible in pop music before he met Ruffino, but now both are crafting the formerly impossible. Because of this focused ideology, Home Video appear to finally be living up to their potential as songwriters and stylistic innovators. If this EP is any indication, one can expect Home Video’s second full-length to be the album that breaks them out in a big way.

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Home Video – I Can Make You Feel It

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Home Video – Every Love That Ever Was

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Home Video – You Will Know What to Do

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Though it is a risky venture to release a double album even if you are a considerably prestigious artist, the bulk of such releases usually derive from artists who have already made a reputable name for themselves at a time when they can afford to take risks. I can use two classic albums from 1996 as an example; Smashing Pumpkins’ Mellon Collies and the Infinite Sadness and 2Pac’s All Eyez on Me were released by both artists at their commercial and artistic peaks. 2Pac already had a platinum album to his name, with his previous Me Against the World reaching #1 on the Billboard 200 upon its release. The Smashing Pumpkins’ prior album, Siamese Dream, also saw a similar range of success as it reached #10. The Pumpkins were the kings of alternative-rock at the time and 2Pac was the king of hip-hop during the same era; they had substantial room to take risks and both artists vastly benefitted from their decisions. Both double albums are now considered classics of their respective genres, but that is not often the case for other attempts when applied to a format that some find overwhelming due to aspects like length, stylistic repetition, and even price. It does not help that most of today’s listeners tend to be an impatient group, with it being a feat if many of them could even sit down and listen to an album in its entirety.

For an artist who opts to produce a double album, it is arguably vital to have a sense of confidence in regard to their own stylistic ability. Unless the songwriting can be widely classified as ingenious, few artists can release such a lengthy album without their style becoming tiresome by the last few tracks at best. This is one of the primary reasons why most double albums we see are from artists who have already had their successes and bumps in the road, as experience is the most imperative tool in crafting something successful of a lengthy duration. Pink Floyd had delicately constructed the epic release of The Wall in 1979 after already writing a slew of legendary albums like The Dark Side of the Moon and Wish You Were Here, releasing the renowned double album in ‘79 after 10 albums and 12 years of working together. Such a practice is most common amongst artists, with experience and success contributing to a high degree of confidence that consequently results in aspirations for a release of epic proportions. Keeping that in mind, for an artist to debut with a double album showcases a form of confidence that is rare even among the most experienced artists. Whether they can live up their own lofty impressions is often a flawed cause, but Benji Hughes’s debut, A Love Extreme, has pulled it off so seamlessly that it is not even slightly pretentious or overbearing. Instead, the native of North Carolina has produced one of the best debuts of 2008.

Within the 25 tracks that encompass A Love Extreme, Hughes’ topical tendencies stray anywhere from taking mushrooms before a Flaming Lips concert to being stood up at a Dairy Queen. “I’m more alternative than Suicide Girls,” he goes on to say during “The Mummy”, a rather apt indication of his cultural awareness. An awareness of so-called “hipster culture” is something that he does quite humorously, with the majority of it being in satirical form like the bouncy, topically self-explanatory “I Went with Some Friends to See the Flaming Lips”, the synthesized dance-pop of “Why Do These Parties Always End the Same Way?”, and the infectious electro-funk of “Neighbor Down the Hall”, a tale of the effect of loud music on an irritated landlord. His outlook on youth culture is amusing because he manages to make a mockery of it while not disbanding and dismissing it entirely, using realistically humorous anecdotes to often emit a central focus. Since it is a double album after all, this is wisely not the only prevalent topical focus. Hughes also has an extreme capability to craft resoundingly successful love songs, whether they are in the form of a ballad or an infectious interpretation of electronic pop. Tracks like “All You’ve Got to Do Is Fall in Love”, “Waiting for an Invitation”, and “So Much Better” variously employ gentle acoustic and key progressions, while a brisker effort like “Even If” showcases a suave mixture of key-led pop and jazz. All of the aforementioned provide excellent results though in a romanticized atmosphere, particularly the brilliant “Even If”, which finds Hughes treading successfully somewhere between The Walkmen and The Divine Comedy.

Though Hughes’ diversity causes comparisons to The Walkmen on “Even If” and even Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy on “So Well” to arise, his multifarious topical ability is more reminiscent of Stephin Merritt, the leader of the Magnetic Fields. Like Merritt, Hughes is able to simultaneously generate ironic, satirical, and witty remarks over a ceaselessly expanding array of musical styles. It also helps that his voice is similarly low, musky, and also highly melodic. One of the album’s catchiest tracks, “You Stood Me Up”, fuses power-pop in the verses with an utterly irresistible chorus that is largely dependent on electro-rock. Its humorous lyrical content is subtly accompanied with rejection and somberness though, as is more evidenced by a track like “All You’ve Got to Do Is Fall in Love” where he begins by asking (or pleading), “Wouldn’t it be sweet if you could be in love with me the way I am in love with you?” For a more direct relation to the Magnetic Fields, “Love is a Razor” reminds me of Merritt’s “Love is Like Jazz” for its witty metaphorical stance. “Love is like a razor, it’s cold and it’s sharp,” Hughes delicately croons over the gentle strum of an acoustic guitar, adding another one to a sprawling list of concurrently humorous and ironically tragic songs.

How so many songs can be simultaneously humorous and tragic is part of what makes Hughes’ album so impressive. The very same thing can be said for Magnetic Fields’ 69 Love Songs, another comparable epic that incorporated a massive array of styles, unpredictable topical frequencies, and amusing references to pop (and independent) culture. Many of us consider that album to be a classic As usual, you can find three recommended samples from the album below, but buying the other 22 tracks for less than $14 should be a no-brainer. It is quite impressive that Hughes has crafted 25 tracks for the album and none of them are lacking in either effort or quality. “When it was time to put it all together, we didn’t want to leave out too much,” Hughes replied when asked about his choice of releasing his debut as a double album. “It just didn’t seem right to leave out too much because it represented where we were when we began all the way through until now.” For the sake of his listeners, it was certainly a wise decision, as each and every track is clearly a great effort that most often results in a unique success.

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Benji Hughes – Even If

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Benji Hughes – You Stood Me Up

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Benji Hughes – All You’ve Got to Do Is Fall in Love

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New West Records

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The post Benji Hughes and A Love Extreme appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Like many college students in October, this past month – for me – has been the busiest of the year in terms of workload. As a result, I find myself being extremely grateful for how easy it was to discover such a great variety of bands in the past month. I constantly have material that is waiting to be considered for a feature, but I often have to wade through it a bit to find something that piques my interest significantly before I get to a few select choices that I feel will contribute nicely to the site. As evidenced by the quality of October’s compilation, I am very proud of the groups featured here, many of which I just stumbled upon by chance. A lot of great stuff is in this collection, whether it came from Norway, France, Montreal, or Brooklyn. With that being said, I hope you enjoy it.

01. Little Joy – The Next Time Around (post)
02. Love Is All – A More Uncertain Future (post)
03. Malajube – Pâte Filo (post)
04. Jolie Holland – Mexico City (post)
05. Peter Broderick – Below It (post)
06. Begushkin – Murderer (post)
07. Katzenjammer – Tea with Cinnamon (post)
08. Rockettothesky – Grizzly Man (post)
09. {{{Sunset}}} – Zombies (post)
10. Helios – Hope Valley Hill (post)
11. Peter Moore – Sister Sunshine (post)
12. Winter Gloves – I Can’t Tell You (post)

DOWNLOAD ENTIRE COMPILATION>>> (55.2 MB, .RAR)

The post Obscure Sound: Best of October 2008 appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

Prolific artists have a tendency to never feel quite satisfied. Regardless of whether or not they have something left to prove, pursuits regarding financial and reputational standing always seem to take a backseat to creative endeavors. It is certainly an admirable ideology, albeit a bit obsessive in some circumstances. An obsession when applied to the art of music, though, is something that many readers of this site can relate to; it is a way of life in which many of us have grown accustomed to, whether we are listeners or artists ourselves. Whether you choose to look at a popular name like Ryan Adams or a recently featured up-and-coming one like Peter Broderick, there is a resoundingly similar quality; these artists who value quality just as much as quantity often split their time between several aliases or projects to differentiate between styles, moods, or methods of performance. The ability to seamlessly transition between musical styles is another talent in itself, but what I often come to respect is an artist who is able to attain a similar audience through different formats. Their success comes in the form of universal admiration, whether it is granted through fans of previous projects or those who have just discovered an artist and now seek to listen to all of their works based on respect alone, dismissing whether or not a certain genre is “not for them”.

As any number of recently featured instrumental artists on this site, from Hauschka to Peter Broderick, could tell you, the influence that classical music has on works of contemporary music is deeply resonating. Whether the intended style is the “post-classical” movement of Max Richter, Hauschka, and Broderick or the electronic pop of Olga Kouklaki and Max Tundra, these artists echo their values of classical music through the structural and melodic tendencies contained within their own works. Just to cite some featured examples: Kouklaki, Broderick, and Ben Jacobs (Max Tundra) all grew up learning the schematics of classical music before they had realized their ambitions as songwriters, a steady indication of just how influential the style of music continues to be. Of course, all these songwriters had a talent just waiting to be unearthed, but it says something that this style of music most certainly contributed to transforming a latent talent into one that is heavily recognizable. Much of the same can be said for Keith Kenniff, a musician whose roots trace back to his childhood. His father, also a musician, taught he and his brother how to play guitar, bass, and drums and encouraged Kenniff’s pursuit of a variety of music styles, from rock to classical, since a young age.

After attending the Berklee College of Music and broadening his interest and capacity in music, he formed his first solo project, Helios. His debut, Unomia, was released in 2004, showcasing a variety of beautiful instrumentals that capitalized on his skills as a multi-instrumentalist and budding songwriter. The album’s general classification of “ambient music” often did not do it enough justice, as Kenniff’s arrangements were often too intricately composed with a revolving array of instruments to be classified as a purely scenic experience. There also served a steady focus on percussion, an instrument Kenniff has pursued and enjoyed immensely ever since childhood. Due to his serenely invigorating compositions, the album drew considerable acclaim. However, instead of following it up immediately, Kenniff chose to tackle a new style of music that slightly opposed the multi-instrumentalist ambient works of Unomia. For this, he also gave himself a new alias: Goldmund. This project instead chose to focus on Kenniff’s more classical leanings, featuring stark piano-led ballads that are subtly complemented by glitchy electronics and distant ambient clips. The project’s debut album, Corduroy Road, was released in 2005 to warm applause. Subsequently, 2006 saw another Helios release in Eingya and 2007 welcomed albums by both of Kenniff’s projects, Ayres by Helios in July and Two Point Discrimination by Goldmund in November.

The year 2008 marks the second time in two years that Kenniff is releasing two albums in one year, with one apiece for Helios and Goldmund. Goldmund’s The Malady of Elegance was released this past July and brought forth what many fans have been expecting from this particular project. The brightest spots on minimalistic gems like “In a Notebook” and “The Winter Of 1539-1540” derived purely from a captivatingly enchanting melody, while other eerily haunting tracks in the vein of “John Harrington” and “The Gardener” explore somewhat unchartered territory with their polyphonic arrangements that consist of acoustical accompaniments and ambient supplementation. Helios’ newest release, Caesura, will be released on November 11th under Type Records, the label that Kenniff has called home ever since his debut. As can be easily seen on this album, Helios serves as Kenniff’s more electronically enabled attempts. The opener, “Hope Valley Hill”, floats weightlessly over a series of gentle guitar progressions, a gently reverberating rhythm section, and faint synth pad in the background. The track begins in a subdued manner but picks up pace when the chordal and rhythmic structures emerge around the 01:34 mark. The soft trickle of keys complements the appropriately titled “A Mountain of Ice” very nicely over a shifting bustle of percussion and eventual guitar progression, while “Mima” is easily the most conventionally guitar-led track on the album.

More highlights on the excellent Caesura include “Backlight”, an epic build-up of a track that shifts from a bare synth pad to a rhythmically combustible lead that sees post-rock influences comes into play, and “Glimpse”, which serves as arguably the best example of Kenniff’s extremely capable multi-instrumental talents. If I had to choose, I would say that I enjoy Caesura, more than The Malady of Elegance, but this is purely rooted in opinion. The fact that Kenniff has crafted two excellent albums of drastically differing styles in one year is a feat in itself, but the way he has formulated each and every moment on both albums with extreme preciseness is what impresses me most. On the two albums combined, there is over 105 minutes worth of material. In all of that, it is breathtakingly impressive how much of that consists of undeniable quality.

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Helios – Hope Valley Hill

Helios – A Mountain of Ice

Helios – Backlight

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Goldmund – In a Notebook

Goldmund – The Gardener

Goldmund – Image-Autumn-Womb

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Type Records

MySpace: Helios, Goldmund

BUY: Helios, Goldmund

The post Helios + Goldmund = Keith Kenniff appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

The alleged fusion of contemporary and classical music has been a noticeable, if somewhat subtle, force over the past several years. For me, the first time I recalled an artist blatantly mentioning the mixture as an intentional component in his own work was when previously featured German composer Max Richter proudly used the tag “post-classical” to describe his music. It sounds simple enough in its phrasing: music with elements reminiscent of classical music in an accessible modernistic format. Sub-categorizing the sub-genre even more, we can also look at conventional and experimental artists within the field of post-classical. Conventionalists are often looked upon as artists who tread primarily in other genres – such as rock or pop – but implement classical instrumentation, such as symphonies or classically oriented rhythm sections. In the opinion of mine and many others, it would be an overwrought process to even group such songwriters in the field of post-classical. At its heart, the music remains within the initial genre with only a few select elements of classical music at hand. It is the experimental post-classical artists like John Cage, Philip Glass, Steve Reich, and even the recent Max Richter who make this emerging and evolving field fascinating. In fact, if done successfully like a few of the aforementioned composers, it can be one of the most unpredictably engaging genres out there today, even if its classification can be broader than some would like.

I have no particular method for finding artists to feature. In fact, a lot of them just appear out of nowhere out of some random occurrence. I found Portland-based Peter Broderick while writing my feature of Horse Feathers a month ago and scouring their MySpace for any relevant information. After reading that the young Broderick (only 21 years old) was usually half of the songwriting duo alongside Justin Ringle, I also noticed a link to his MySpace profile on the same page. I had known that he was previously a member of Norfolk & Western, but had no clue that he was already a budding solo artist in his own right. If it was not enough that he was already mentioned on this site twice already with his large role in Horse Feathers and player of saws and slide guitars for the previously featured Loch Lomond, his eponymous solo efforts prove most worthy for the third mention. When I looked at his MySpace about a month ago, I noticed that he had a new album, Home, that was going to be released, one that was apparently going to be a stylistic departure from his previous works. As most of his earlier material consisted of post-classical instrumentals, Home finds his music centered on the voice and guitar. Whether the album treads a fine line between post-classical conventionalism and experimentation is up to the listener, though I personally believe he has found the perfect mid-point for his style.

A notably gifted multi-instrumentalist since his teens who was already ahead of his years, it likely was no surprise to supporters and friends of Broderick when he moved overseas to Copenhagen, Denmark in 2007. Of course, a musically related expenditure was the reason. Efterklang, a critically acclaimed Danish experimental-pop collective that Broderick had been a fan of, saw his astute capabilities and grabbed him for their international tour. To play with a group of musicians that he idolized in Efterklang proved creatively invigorating in a sense, as he began pushing forth the production of his solo material. Debuting on Type Records, he released Retreat/Release and Docile in November 2007, treating listeners to atmospherically consuming piano compositions that were brought to life by enriching melodies contained within a lo-fi method of production that worked extremely well in context to his skills as both a songwriter and multi-instrumentalist. Docile was excellent use of such aforementioned post-classical standards, causing his instrumental compositions to be enjoyable for those even without a regard for classical music in general. Even prior to the September release of Home, the ceaselessly busy Broderick released another album, Float, in May of this year. His last release on Type before signing to Hush Records for Home, it was considered his first official full-length. I suppose this was due to its higher level of intricacy in both the instrumentation and melodic content as much as it had to do with album’s cohesive ambitiousness, but I still enjoyed Docile enough for it to be considered a full-length in my own mind.

Considering Broderick’s sheer prowess as a musician, I doubt that many believed his entire solo career would consist of one fixated style. He has certainly conquered the ability to demonstrate moods through music, whether it be on the barren but engaging piano compositions on Docile or the serene string-aided delicacies of Float, but many have been waiting for that certain stylistic shift in his solo material since the release of Docile. His newest, Home, brings what may sound familiar to listeners of one of his (several) other projects in Horse Feathers. He captures a form of hushed folk music that is simultaneously atmospheric and emotionally gripping, with both features brought on by his caressing vocals and impressive style of play. Like Docile, Home is primarily an instrumentally barren release whose greatest moments arise in Broderick’s talent as a songwriter. “I’m not in love, I’d like to say I never was,” he stubbornly convinces himself in “Not At Home”, a heartbreaking tale of love lost and realized that sees its peak come in a slight twinkle of keys toward the mid-point of a track subsequent to a slight melodic transition. “Below It” sees his guitar playing at its finest, while “Sickness, Bury” shows his aptitude for melody and stylistic innovation in what appears to be an Eastern-influenced effort. Such diverse content on Home makes it yet another winner for Peter Broderick, a fantastic musician who seems to get somehow involved in seemingly every notable folk act these days.

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Peter Broderick – Below It

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Peter Broderick – Sickness, Bury

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Peter Broderick – Not At Home

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Hush Records

MySpace

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The post From Horse Feathers to Home: Peter Broderick appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.

These days, open mic nights usually cause more forms of embarrassment than success. Like the art of discovering new music in itself, though, there are a few gems in the rough just waiting to be found. Before the digital age where anyone could simply create music, upload it, and add a million or so friends on MySpace for instantaneous exposure of some sort, the options were limited to publically displaying your talent. Sure, you could still send a demo tape to the record label of your choice, but there was a good chance it was not even going to be played unless you had a good connection or two. The rise of Justin Ringle’s music career has occurred too recently for the young songwriter to experience such “ancient” means of exposure, but by indication of his throwback style of lo-fi folk, doing things the old-fashioned way seems to coincide well with his ideology. After a move to Portland, Oregon in 2004, the Idaho-based Ringle began performing at open mic nights throughout the Oregon area under the name of Horse Feathers. At the time, he had no credibility to his name whatsoever, opting to build his reputation based on an impressive array of original songwriting that captivated most audiences in attendance.

While making his rounds throughout bars and small venues, Ringle made several connections in the local Oregon music scene. The most important came in Peter Broderick, a multi-instrumentalist who was already a member of Norfolk & Western, the solo alias for local folk songwriter Adam Selzer. With Norfolk & Western already a brand name in Oregon at the time, Broderick saw the immediate potential of Ringle’s craft, a somewhat comparable entity to the talented craftwork of his other collaborator’s gently intricate folk musings in Selzer. Ringle and Broderick began writing songs and performing together at the end of 2004, increasing the writing process the following year in anticipation for their 2006 debut, Words Are Dead. As a proficient violinist, cellist, pianist, and percussionist, Ringle’s multi-instrumentalist talents allowed Ringle’s powerful voice and exceptional guitar work to be complemented by arrangements that bolstered his charismatic songwriting. Even when backed by nothing more than an acoustic guitar though, his work shines with a form of emotionally charged authority and preciseness that few contemporary folk artists are able to achieve. Broderick’s presence allows their collaborative songwriting to flow even more freely, as neither show a desperate regard to enhance arrangements without necessity or purpose; it is certainly a concept that more folk artists – and songwriters in general – should take note of.

I imagine that the quality presented on Horse Feathers’ newest album, House With No Home, will have the type of effect in which their previous material will be rediscovered or taken anew by many. With other similarly molded folk artists like Will Oldham and Bon Iver allowing the style to tread in accessible waters, it would not be surprising to see more people open up to more barefaced styles of independent folk music in the vein of Horse Feathers. And as far as this style goes, I have not found many recent songwriters who can compare to the works of Horse Feathers. Without being pretentious or stylistically overbearing, the songwriting duo of Ringle and Broderick are able to craft delicate gems that highlight topics ranging from melancholic loneliness to constructive self-discovery, two themes that override their initial generic mold to create unique forms of serene audibility and poignant heartbreak. Most of the time, Ringle writes the songs and then gives them to Broderick for additional instrumental accompaniments. It has been a method that has worked advantageously since the release of Words Are Dead Alongside Ringle and Broderick sits an additionally impressive cast of musicians, including cellist/vocalist Heather Broderick, violinist Nathan Crockett, cellist Catherine O’Dell, and banjoist/percussionist Sam Cooper. On House With No Home Heather Broderick makes her presence particularly well known with backing vocals that contrast flawlessly with Ringle’s calmly shrill and entirely effective vocal delivery, an aspect that combines with richly consuming instrumentation to create a sound that is wholesomely unique to the talented array of musicians.

House With No Home begins immediately with a stunner of a track in “Curs in the Weeds”, a remarkable accomplishment for the songwriting duo in terms of both lyrical and melodic elegance. As several variations of strings begin to accompany the gentle hush of an acoustic guitar, Ringle relays a variety of scenic metaphors with a transcendentalist tinge. Calling on a “father of a three” to look upon parenting as a selfless endeavor, one cannot help but feel indebted to Ringle for his advisable musings. “It’s narrow without one,” he sings along the backing of strings, guitars, and Broderick’s angelic vocals. “To live in a house with no home.” The sense of familial devastation is prevalent, and the comparisons Ringle utilizes to naturalist settings are wisely engineered to exhibit rare forms of uplifting emotional capacity. “Working Poor” is a brisker attempt that sees a banjo lead initially guide a series of acoustic guitars and multiple vocal accompaniments, resulting in a much livelier and emotionally subdued track that is complemented vigorously by a series of impressive strings toward the conclusion. “Helen”, a heartfelt symphonic love song, remains notable for its use of minimalistic orchestral accompaniments as it toys with a variety of finger-plucked strings over hushed backing vocals and more additional impressive guitar arrangements. The actual intricate arrangements arrive in the final minute or so, but the introduction prepares the listener effectively for the transition into a more full-fledged sound. It serves as a prime example of Horse Feathers’ high degree of songwriting, one that values planning and preciseness as the actual melodic and lyrical content in itself. House With No Home drops on September 9th and is fully recommended.

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Horse Feathers – Curs in the Weeds

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Horse Feathers – Working Poor

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Horse Feathers – Helen

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Official Web Site

MySpace

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The post Horse Feathers Build a House With No Home appeared first on Obscure Sound: Indie Music Blog.