It's impossible to read something about Rein Sanction without seeing a reference to Dinosaur Jr. So let's get that out of the way. Yes, the overdriven guitars of Mark Gentry do sound like those of J Mascis. But the comparison really ends there. The music of Rein Sanction is much darker and menacing than anything Mascis created. Where Dinosaur Jr. was essentially a pop band putting forth its songs with monster riffs and Neil Young-inspired wankery (and I mean that as a compliment), Rein Sanction is tapping into the blues in a way, conveying torment through the twisted wail of Gentry's guitar.

The band's sophomore effort, Broc's Cabin, was the first time most heard its music. It's a short blast of 10 songs in less than 30 minutes, the Florida trio blasting through the tracks as if being chased. The opening one-two shot of "F Train" and "Deep Ellis" is an aural assault, yet undeniably catchy. Gentry's wailing guitar is the focus -- he sings, too, but you're hard-pressed to figure out what he's saying, the lyrics essentially acting as a second melody -- while his brother, Brannon, on drums, and bassist Ian Chase, drive things forward with a low rumble.

Things vary a bit tempo-wise from there, slowing some with "Creel," before starting the climb back toward a faster pace on "Limestone." For the rest of the disc, the songs may differ in terms of their speed, but there is little dynamic shift and no real change in terms of the focus on Gentry's guitar. That's fine; the band knows what works and seems loathe to mess with the formula.

While the Dinosaur Jr. comparison comes most easily, it is another SubPop band that perhaps most haunts the proceedings. Broc's Cabin was released about six months before Nirvana's Nevermind. It's reading too much into things, of course, but the cover of this album, from a distance, is like a negative of Nirvana's Bleach, the black bars replaced by white, the image in the middle a dense blackness replacing the vivid, reversed image at the heart of Bleach's cover. Here was another powerful trio whose sound centered on a retiring frontman who compensated with guitar squall. Of course, the flannel-clad revolution that seemed to drag along every other band with loud guitars left Rein Sanction behind. The band issued one more disc, the more accomplished but less-exciting Mariposa, just a year later, then seemed to fade away.

The great thing about these Out of the Shadows write-ups, however, is rediscovery. Rein Sanction still exists, it seems. It issued a limited edition single in 2006, and has a 1996 album, an unreleased 1999 EP and other songs available for purchase on its MySpace page. Gentry has also recorded some solo material. The music sounds a bit more mellow these days, understandable given the 15 years that have passed since Mariposa. Yet whatever it was that drove the band in the first place can still be detected. It's good to have them back.

MP3: F Train
MP3: Creel

Labels: music, OOTS

Perhaps it's a sign that I was old before my time, but I've always preferred this duo record from dBs Peter Holsapple and Chris Stamey to either of the band's albums they recorded while Stamey was still in the group. Mavericks is admittedly a smoother, more adult-contemporary affair, but that's more appealing to me than the cold, brittle sound that the dBs favored on Stands for Decibels and Repercussion.

Not that either is a bad album; far from it. But when I feel like hearing these two, this is the disc I usually grab. Perhaps it's the lack of challenge that hooks me. All that's missing is a front porch or a campfire, as these two old bandmates and friends simply swap songs with a whole host of other friends creating a warm, inviting album.

Things start off strong with the catchiest song on the album. "Angels" is a slice of pure pop heaven, no pun intended, as Holsapple takes the lead and Stamey offers sweet harmonies. It sets the tone, at least vocally, for the rest of the album, which plays on the strength of these two voices in a way the dBs rarely did.

They alternate back and forth throughout the course of the album, with Holsapple singing lead on a couple and Stamey taking the next pair of songs. Stamey sings the lone cover, a haunting version of Gene Clark's Byrds classic "Here Without You." He also offers the more rocking tunes on the disc, with "I Want to Break Your Heart" and "Lover's Rock," while Holsapple's songs are the more accessible. Things close with one of the strongest cuts, Stamey's "Haven't Got the Right (To Treat Me Wrong)," which, according to the liner notes, was the first song recorded for the project, and which features the fantastic guitar work of Dave Schramm.

Both of these guys have been responsible for some great music, together and apart. I'd argue that Mavericks deserves a spot toward the top of that impressive list.

MP3: Angels
MP3: Haven't Got the Right

Labels: music, OOTS

I had no idea that Bill Fox was such an enigma. I first came across Fox when I read a review of his solo debut disc, Shelter From the Smoke, in some magazine. I've no recollection of precisely how it was described, but I knew it's mix of smart pop hooks, garage-fidelity vibe and folk instrumentation would appeal to me. This was 1998, the time before you could just hop on the Internet and order whatever you wanted in a few clicks. The local store didn't stock the disc, so I kept a lookout for it. Instead, I came across Transit Byzantium, his second solo disc, also issued in 1998. I bought it and liked it a great deal. I later tracked down Shelter From the Smoke, and liked it as well. I kept my eyes open for a follow-up, but it never came.

A few years later, I learned that Scat Records (home to my beloved Guided by Voices first widely distributed disc, Vampire on Titus) was going to reissue the recorded output of Fox's 1980s band, the Mice. I pulled my reviewer strings and got a promo copy of the disc, For Almost Ever Scooter (which collects the For Almost Ever EP and Scooter LP), which I've played a lot since it's release in 2004. At that time, Scat's press materials reported that "Bill stopped writing and performing music a few years ago, but has plans to start back up again relatively soon."

Then I picked up the recent music issue of The Believer, which features an interesting article about Fox. The author fell in love with his music, but couldn't find anything out about the musician. He contacted former bandmates (including Fox's brother, Tommy, who drummed for the Mice) and other acquaintances, but the closest he got to Fox was to learn that he was working in Cleveland as a telemarketer and had completely given up music. There are other fairly fascinating details about Fox's life in the piece, but because Fox made it clear through intermediaries that he didn't want his life on display on the Internet for all to see, I'll let you track down the magazine if you care to know (The Believer isn't making the story available on its web site for the same reason).

It's a shame that Fox has soured on music, because he's awfully good at it. On his two solo discs, he offers a total of 36 songs, and nearly all of them are keepers. He evolved from the snotty pop-leaning punk of the Mice to offer a sophisticated sound that is clearly influenced by Bob Dylan (the inside of the CD insert of Transit Byzantium is dominated by a photo of a ticket stub to a 1998 Dylan show) but which features stronger, more immediate pop hooks than can be found in Dylan's work. Most if not all of this was recorded on a four track, and nearly every sound is played by Fox. Much like Guided by Voices (whose Robert Pollard is reported in the Believer article to be a fan), Fox figured out how to use the four track as almost another instrument, creating dense-sounding songs that stay on the right side of the line between cozy and claustrophobic.

Not all of the tunes are obvious pop songs, though my favorites on the disc are. "I'll Give It Away" and "Lay You Down" are among the best, each with a great rhythm and solid hooks. He leans a bit more toward the folk end of his sound on some of the songs on this disc as compared with Shelter From the Smoke, but this never devolves into corny campfire singalongs. This is folk in spirit more than sound, the songs so well crafted as to feel like public domain wonders rather than 10-year-old pop tunes recorded in the basement on weekends by a 9-to-5er.

Perhaps Fox really is planning to start playing and performing again, as Scat reported three years ago. If so, that's great news. If not, at least we have these 36 songs (and the 16 on the Mice reissue) to enjoy.

MP3: I'll Give It Away
MP3: Lay You Down

Labels: magazines, music, OOTS

Acetone is one in the long line of bands whose reach seemed to be coming into line with their grasp when things came to an end. Sometimes it's a car crash, sometimes it's an overdose and sometimes it's suicide. In the case of Acetone, it's the last one, the band's career cut short when bassist and singer Richie Lee took his life in 2001.

That's a real shame, because Lee's band had really hit its stride the year before. The band stumbled around for a few years after forming, experimenting with ways to find its own voice amid a wash of top-notch influences, including the Velvet Underground, the Flying Burrito Brothers and various and sundry psychedelic and surf sounds. Things gelled on the 1994 EP I Guess I Would, and then really came together on what would be the band's last album, York Blvd.

On it, the trio, which includes guitarist Mark Lightcap and drummer Steve Hadley, seemed to nicely synthesize all of those sounds into a cohesive, original whole. Mixing the laid-back vibe of California cosmic music with the phased psychedelia of the Velvet Underground and the rich harmonies of the Beach Boys, the band was able to effect a disinterested cool that was surprisingly sophisticated in its structure. Songs like "Wonderful World" and "Like I Told You" had solid hooks and were among the most propulsive things the band had done, while slower tracks like "Things Are Gonna Be Alright" simply swaggered along with a studied nonchalance.

The band was earning notice with the disc, but this clearly wasn't what Lee wanted or needed. Things stopped completely with his death, and the band has quietly slipped off the radar. But there are signs and Hadley and Lightcap are ready to revisit the past. There is now an Acetone MySpace site, and the pair have posted some rarities, as well as some Lightcap solo work, on the page. That's great news, because while Lee will be missed, Lightcap-led songs like "Things Are Gonna Be Alright" and "Like I Told You" were clear standouts on York Blvd., and it's clear he has something worth sharing.

It's easy for bands with a lower profile like this to completely fade away after they stop recording and performing. But in the case of Acetone, that would be a true loss.

MP3: Wonderful World
MP3: Like I Told You

Labels: music, OOTS

I bought Kate Jacobs' debut disc years ago not because of anything I'd heard about her, as I recall, but because Dave Schramm played all of the guitars and produced the disc. At the time, I was a nut for Schramm's music. In addition to his own group, the Schramms, he'd also been an early member of Yo La Tengo (those great leads on Ride the Tiger are mostly his, not Ira's) and played with Peter Holsapple and Chris Stamey on their tour in support of the duo record, Mavericks.

So, when I saw that he was involved with this disc -- and saw that it was on Bar/None, which at least at the time was a trademark of quality -- I picked it up. And while I still appreciate Schramm's tasteful guitar and production here, it is Jacobs' songs that keeps me coming back.

Jacobs, who now has four CDs to her name spread over the past 14 years, has a sweet, almost girlish voice, and her songs contain a similar sweetness that is leavened by Schramm's slightly darker guitar work. It's a sound that is deceptive. Though you might think at first that it is slight, the depth of Jacobs' writing and the emotion with which she conveys it give these songs some bite. Consider her a more earthy Mary Chapin-Carpenter, a less-ragged Lucinda Williams or a considerably less twangy Iris DeMent.

Things start quickly with the title track, Schramm's guitar setting the tone and Jacobs following right behind with one of the best melodies on the disc. With clever wordplay she depicts a bad relationship and averrs that the calm comes after, not before. "Deep Talk" is another satisfying blend of Schramm's tasteful playing and Jacobs' wily ways with a melody. Over the course of a generous 15 tracks, things don't change much stylistically, but there is a uniform quality to these tunes that makes the whole disc a compelling, warm listen.

For some reason I never ventured beyond this disc in Jacobs' catalog. Revisiting The Calm Comes After and finding it as good as ever, however, makes me want to further investigate. All of Jacobs' discs have earned rave reviews, including her most recent, 2004's You Call That Dark, which again featured guitar and production from Schramm.

MP3: The Calm Comes After
MP3: One Good Night

Labels: music, OOTS

I've been on a bit of a Nick Lowe kick lately thanks to the release of his great new disc, At My Age (more on that coming soon, I'm sure). That led me to seek out live recordings, which led to the discover of a great 1982 show co-headlined by Lowe and Paul Carrack. The two lead a band of frequent collaborators, trading off lead vocals as each highlights songs from their respective recent albums. While I'm convinced Lowe is one of the most under-appreciated singer-songwriters of the past 30 years, I was pleasantly surprised to hear Carrack stand toe-to-toe with the Jesus of Cool.

That, finally getting to the point, let me to pull out my old copy of Carrack's solo disc, Suburban Voodoo. Though it was just the second disc under his name, he was no newcomer. He fronted the pub rock band Ace, penning and singing one of the few hits from that movement, "How Long." He later joined Squeeze, offering lead vocals on that group's biggest hit, "Tempted." I didn't know until doing a little research for this post that he also did time in Roxy Music.

I'm not sure how that last little bit fits into his career, but everything else is of a piece. Carrack is the quintessential pub rocker, his music a smart mix of vintage rock and soul with a little country flavoring in spots. He has found the most success when he or those he works with have used his pipes to full effectiveness, harnessing his soulful croon in the pursuit of organic pop bliss. He falters when things get too slick and syrupy. No worry here with Lowe in the producer's chair -- they don't call him Basher for nothing. He keeps things lean and mean on Suburban Voodoo, creating a slightly more radio-friendly, R'n'B flavored version of the kinds of albums he himself was releasing at the time (Labour of Lust, The Abominable Showman) that leans heavily on the standard guitar-bass-drums-keyboards setup.

Carrack contributes a few compositions to the album, as does Lowe, while his old bosses in Squeeze, Chris Difford and Glen Tilbrook, penned the very Squeeze-sounding "Out of Touch." At its best the disc captures a perfect blend between Carrack's sweet vocals and his band's pub-ready groove. "Lesson in Love" and "I'm in Love" are both winners (not to be confused with the closer "I Found Love"), while "I Need You" was a deserved Top 40 hit that approximated the tempo and feel of Squeeze's "Tempted."

The singer went on to see his greatest success with the supergroup of sorts Mike + the Mechanics led by Genesis guitarist Mike Rutherford. The group's first hit, "Silent Running," is really the only among its radio tracks that bears listening two decades later, Carrack's impassioned vocal able to overcome the dated electronic instrumentation. He continues to release solo albums, though he does so with limited success (stateside anyway). He has a self-released greatest hits disc where track 7 of 20 is the last big hit he had here, Mike +the Mechanics' "Living Years," so somebody must still be buying his records (or he's very loosely adhering to the definition of a hit).

If I had unlimited resources, I'd try to pull a Rick Rubin/Joe Henry sort of thing and put Carrack back in the studio with the Suburban Voodoo band (or any pub rock/Rockpile-related combo), a batch of great songs from folks like Lowe, Dave Edmunds, Elvis Costello and Carrack himself, and see what we could do. The guy has always seemed on the cusp of doing something great, and until my lottery number comes up, Suburban Voodoo is likely to be the closest he'll get.

MP3: I Need You
MP3: I'm In Love

Labels: music, OOTS

Much as was the case with the Byrds tribute Time Between written up the last time out, The Bridge was a disc purchased not because I was into the artist being feted, but because I really liked a few of the bands paying tribute. In this case, the Pixies, Dinosaur Jr. and, most importantly, Soul Asylum contributed tracks. Only later would I value the disc for the fact that it offered alternate looks at songs by someone who had become a hero of mine: Neil Young.

The disc, issued in 1989 like Time Between, had a more altruistic goal than its brethren in the tribute CD racks. Proceeds from the disc went to support the Bridge School, which, according to its web site, is "an educational program dedicated to ensuring that children with severe speech and physical impairments achieve full participation in their communities through the use of augmentative & alternative means of communication and assistive technology applications." Young holds an annual benefit concert to raise money for the school, and this disc, released just three years after Young started that series of shows, piggybacked on the name and idea.

Of course, the name of the disc also is a not-so-subtle reference to the bridge between Young and the younger artists who contributed tracks. There is a clear line between most of the acts here and Young's work, from the guitar squall of Sonic Youth or Dinosaur Jr. to the naked melancholy of Nick Cave and early Flaming Lips.

The disc starts strong with one of the last truly decent thing Soul Asylum ever did. "Barstool Blues" is a fitting choice, and it sounds like it came right off the band's best album, Hang Time. It's ragged charms are a sad reminder of what was once a great band. From there, Victoria Williams warbles her way through "Don't Let it Bring You Down" and Wayne Coyne of the F'lips, well, he warbles his way through "After the Goldrush." Nikki Sudden, Loop, Bongwater, Pyschic TV and B.A.L.L. all offer predictably good, trippy versions of Young classics as well.

The stand-outs, in addition to Soul Asylum, are Cave, who makes "Helpless" his own, the Pixies, whose "Winterlong" is among their best songs, and Sonic Youth, who remake Trans' strange "Computer Age" into a swirling wash of guitar fury that is further evidence that the band was at the height of its powers around the time of Daydream Nation.

The disc's lineup today seems odd, as most tribute albums do in hindsight, but for what it was, it ably marked Young's influence and captured many great alternative bands at their crest. With today's reliance on superstar-filled, gimmicky tributes, this, Time Between and a few other peers actually felt like tributes, a way of saying thanks from one generation to another.

MP3: Soul Asylum - Barstool Blues
MP3: Sonic Youth - Computer Age

Labels: music, OOTS

My music tastes as I exited high school and entered college in the late 1980s were fairly myopic. Sure, I was listening to the same mainstream radio stations as my friends at the same time I was venturing beyond that safe cocoon to explore what at the time was known as "college rock," but in those forays into the unknown I was limited by what I could learn from friends, the few magazines on the subject and MTV's "120 Minutes." I was passionate about a few artists, however, and that devotion helped to exponentially enhance my education.

R.E.M. was among the first bands that hooked me, and I bought up (or taped from friends) everything I could find. I made wise choices, for the most part, taping the tepid Full Time Men album from a friend (that being Peter Buck's collaboration with the Fleshtones) and purchasing the Byrds tribute album Time Between. In that case, a purchase was a no-brainer, for it featured Buck backing Robyn Hitchcock, an artist whose Globe of Frogs album (or rather, store-bought cassette) had been played so much that the lettering had been rubbed off the tape. Dinosaur Jr. also had become an important band in my life, and its inclusion on the disc certainly didn't hurt. That I didn't know much about the other groups on the disc didn't matter; this was enough to justify the purchase of what, in 1990, was one of my first CDs.

So, 17 years later, what do I have? A disc with some great Byrds covers, some dross and the first appearance in my collection of what went on to be some favorite bands. Of particular note are the Chills ("Draft Morning"), Thin White Rope ("Everybody Has Been Burned" and "I Knew I'd Want You") and Richard Thompson (joined here by Clive Gregson and Christine Collister on "Here Without You" and "Hickory Wind"). All contribute great versions of songs, though only Thin White Rope's performance was enough at the time to make me explore further, leading to purchase of a cassette of The Ruby Sea. The disc also feautures several bands I've not heard from again, like the Moffs, the Mock Turtles, the Primevals and Static. Apparently, UK label Imaginary Records used the disc to promote some of its own, lesser-known artists. The disc was issued in the U.S. by Communion.

The bands I did know turned in some nice versions of Byrds tunes as well. Hitchcock and Buck, performing as Nigel and the Crosses, do a gorgeous version of "Wild Mountain Thyme," while Miracle Legion (whose Me and Mr. Ray was just beginning to hook me) offered suitably wacky versions of "Mr. Spaceman and "All the Things." Only Dinosaur Jr. left me somewhat cold. The band played a great, fuzzed-out version of "I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better," with Lou Barlow on lead vocals, but the whole thing is marred by the presence of "Artie Sinatra," who speak-sings over Barlow in a voice that makes Neil Hamburger sound like, well, the real Sinatra. They do the same thing with "Lotta Love" on the contemporaneous Neil Young tribute, The Bridge (next week's Out of the Shadows pick). I remember laughing about it at the time, but now I wish I could strip that goofy vocal away from what is a pretty rocking cover. (Trivia: apparently Sinatra is the face in the sun on the cover of the band's first album).

Both the Byrds and Young tributes were among the first wave of such releases (along with similar, indie-centric tributes to the Kinks, Syd Barrett and Captain Beefheart). The idea, of course, was to interest younger fans in the work of bands that influenced current favorites. As the late critic Robert Palmer wrote in a New York Times review of several of them, "At their best, the tribute albums offer a satisfying sense of emotional connection as well, linking younger bands and audiences with the works of their predecessors at a level that runs deeper than mere competence." I first heard most of the songs on Time Between in these versions, long before I'd heard the Byrds originals. I've since become a huge fan of that band's first five or six albums (a read through Ric Menck's 33 1/3 book about The Notorious Byrd Brothers is what led me to dig this out in the first place) and while it's clear the trajectory of the evolution of my music taste would have led me there sooner rather than later, I know this disc certainly nudged me in that direction.

MP3: Dinosaur Jr. - I'll Feel a Whole Lot Better
MP3: Thin White Rope - Everybody Has Been Burned
MP3: Miracle Legion - Mr. Spaceman

Next week: The Bridge - a Tribute to Neil Young

Labels: music, OOTS

Imagine Justin Timberlake making an album that critics can truly appreciate -- not just those who embrace his current vapid pop songs in desperate displays of ironic, negative reinforcement -- but those who appreciate real artistry and boundary breaking. If that seems improbable, there is precedent in the work of Mark Hollis.

Hollis led the British boy band Talk Talk, most well known on this side of the Atlantic for its hit "It's My Life." The band's early efforts are disposable pop, but it didn't take long for Hollis and producer Tim Friese-Greene to steer things in a more abstract direction. The band's last two discs, Spirit of Eden and Laughing Stock, are classics of avant pop, mixing atmospheric arrangements, hushed vocals and restrained, jazzy playing to create something new. It was a sound years before its time, leading the way for artists like Tindersticks and, more recently, Shearwater.

Those discs tanked commercially, however, and the group disbanded. Seven years later, Hollis surfaced with his self-titled solo debut, a disc that used Laughing Stock as a launching point, or rather, as a framework from which things could be stripped further. The disc's first track, "The Colour of Spring," begins with 30 seconds of silence, and things get only marginally more dynamic from there. But the result of such hushed performance is that the songs are reduced to their very essence, and these are songs that bear up under such unadorned presentation.

These eight songs are long -- only one is less than four minutes, four are six or longer -- giving each time to open up and evolve over the course of their running time. Most start quietly, with a single instrument setting the tone. Only "The Gift" could be said to have much of a beat, and even that drives a song built on minimalist acoustic guitar and vocals.

An artistic statement like this doesn't just happen overnight; witness the seven years between this and its predecessor. Still, as the 10-year anniversary of its release looms, with no word about a follow-up, one wonders if Hollis is spent or simply has said all he has to say. "At the point when you finish an album, the last thing in the world I could think of doing is start writing another one," he told The Wire in 1998. "At the point where you've made it, that says what you want to say at that point in time, so it's not like the next day you can begin another one."

If Hollis does have new things to say, he couldn't pick a better time than the present. Assuming he would take too large a stylistic leap, it seems as if the rest of the world is starting to catch up.

MP3: The Gift
MP3: The Colour of Spring

Labels: music, OOTS

Chris Knox is often referred to as the godfather of New Zealand pop, and that's as good a description as any (though perhaps "strange uncle" is more appropriate). For more than 30 years Knox has made quirky, catchy pop music, first fronting the Enemy, then as part of Toy Love, and later as a solo artist and member of the duo Tall Dwarfs with Alex Bathgate.

By the mid-1990s, what Knox had been doing all along was in vogue. His one-man-band reliance on odd instruments like the omnichord and his prevalent use of drum machines and home recording techniques fit well with the lo-fi movement that kept indie tastemakers busy. That all came to a head with Songs of You and Me, one of his best -- and best-distributed -- albums.

The disc is divided into two halves, almost like a double album. The first, the songs about "you," is subtitled "Hanging Out for Time to Cure Birth," while the songs about "me" are found on the latter half, titled "A Stranger's Iron Shore." Other than lyrical focus, there is no real difference. All of the songs are built on either Knox's heavily distorted guitar or his omnichord, with drum machine backing and little else. That's enough, however, as the real hook is in Knox's lyrics and melodies.

Over the course of 21 tracks, he offers barely tempered rage "Song to Welcome the Onset of Maturity"), jangly pop ("Half Man/Half Mole") and soaring ballads ("One Fell Swoop"). It's an impressive range given instrumental limits he places on his work.

In an interesting piece written for New Zealand Listener about his most enduring song, "Not Given Lightly," (most easily found on the U.S. release Meat) Knox damns himself with faint praise. Discussing a "best New Zealand songs" list, on which the track charted at no. 13, he writes that it "demonstrated the dubious advantages of producing only one 'hit,' whereas fans of the Finns and Dave Dobbyn had so many to choose from that their votes were split."

He may have only written one minor hit, but Knox's back catalog is full of twisted gems, and Songs of You and Me contains more than its fair share of them.

MP3: Half Man/Half Mole
MP3: One Fell Swoop

Next week: Mark Hollis - s/t

Labels: music, OOTS

For years, The Name of This Band is Talking Heads was a true lost classic. Issued as a double live album in 1982, it consistently avoided the CD reissue treatment that was afforded every other seemingly worth (and not so worthy) disc of its era. That meant listening to cassettes dubbed from old pieces of scratchy vinyl or, in later years, mp3s ripped from those old black slabs.

Then, in 2004, Rhino Records finally heard the call and released the album. Of course, this being Rhino, they didn't just release it as-is, but instead augmented it, nearly doubling it from 17 to 33 songs. The result is the best evidence of the greatness of the Talking Heads.

The album is roughly divided into two parts, each covering an era of the band's early, pre-superstardom days. The first disc captured the earliest days, with the original quartet of David Byrne, Tina Weymouth, Jerry Harrison and Chris Frantz playing small venues and working their way through the songs that made up their first two albums. The performances are more odd and energetic than their studio counterparts, and were a powerful tool that made me a fan. The reissue adds songs recorded in 1978 to those from 1977 and 1979 on the original issue. Byrne is at his strangest here, his awkward stage banter -- "The name of this song is 'New Feeling'... and that's what it's about" -- might seem off-putting, but has the opposite effect.

The second disc shows the band's staggering growth in just a couple of years. Taken from shows on the band's 1981 tour for Remain in Light, it is the document of a now 10-piece band (including Adrian Belew, Bernie Worrell and Nona Hendryx) adding massive amounts of soul-funk and a pinch of world music spice to Talking Heads songs. Again, these performances are more unhinged and powerful than those found on the studio albums.

My preference, on this album and in general, is for the earliest version of the Talking Heads. What they were able to do with guitar-bass-drums and Byrne's proto Norman Bates vocals was a startling revelation, while the later forays into world beat always felt like the earnest efforts of liberal art school grads with equal helpings of genuine enthusiasm and affluent guilt. I'm clearly in the minority, and can appreciate the artistry behind those later albums, but they're not for me. I came around again by the time the band had become a successful corporation and issued its second live album, Stop Making Sense, but never regained that first flush of fandom sparked by the first disc of that earlier live album. Those first stabs at quirky bliss, particularly as presented on The Name of This Band is Talking Heads, are as fresh, original and electric as ever.

MP3: Pulled Up
MP3: Life During Wartime

Next week: Chris Knox - Songs of You and Me

Labels: music, OOTS

If Joe Henry has made a bad album, I haven't heard it yet. That said, his career is pretty easily divided into two eras, the first where the developing singer-songwriter offered the standard slate of folk and country-laced albums, the latter where he took a hard left turn and started sonic explorations that continue to push into new territory.

The first era culminated in the release of Kindness of the World, Henry's fifth disc. Like its predecessor, Short Man's Wedding, the disc represented the high water mark of this sound. Henry seemed to sense this, for the follow-up, Trampoline, found him investigating new textures and tempos. It is clearly a transitional record. Fuse, his next record, saw Henry seemingly trying everything he could, capitalizing on the freedom he had discovered on Trampoline. The result is probably Henry's least-satisfying disc, though it is not without its merits.

It was on his eighth disc, Scar, however, that Henry found his new voice. While keeping all of the storytelling and melodicism of his earlier work, it showed that he had discovered a new, startlingly satisfying way to present himself. The disc blends off-kilter rhythms, dark, minimalist playing and wealth of top-flight guests, all giving full-flower to an adventurous set of songs. The result is his best album, and the one that fully captures Henry's capabilities.

It begins with the opening creep of "Richard Pryor Addresses a Tearful Nation," a song that is lifted to the heavens by a perfect saxophone solo from jazz giant Ornette Coleman. Along the way you get "Stop," a song that Henry's sister-in-law, Madonna, turned into the hit "Don't Tell Me," the playful "Rough and Tumble" and the searing ballad "Mean Flower." He is joined throughout by a stellar cast, including pianist Brad Mehldau, guitarist Marc Ribot and drummer Brian Blade.

Perhaps only Tom Waits can be seen as a precedent for a songwriter to grow so much as a performer over the course of his career. The only sad thing at this point is that Henry is so busy producing others -- Solomon Burke and Bettye LaVette among them -- that he hasn't released a disc of his own since Scar's follow-up, 2003's Tiny Voices.

MP3: Richard Pryor Addresses a Tearful Nation
MP3: Stop

Next week: The Name of This Band is Talking Heads

Labels: music, OOTS

There seem to be few people who were lucky enough to hear the Hummingbirds' debut, loveBUZZ, when it came out, and fewer still know anything about it today. That's a shame, because it's one of the best jangle-pop records I've ever heard, and that's saying something.

The band hailed from Australia, and was built around the boy-girl vocals of guitarists Simon Holmes and Alannah Russack and bassist Robyn St. Clare. Drummer Mark Temple rounded out the foursome. The disc was produced by Mitch Easter (yes, I know, that's two OOTS selections in a row from him), who ably captured the bands shimmering melodies and luscious harmonies amid the buzz of guitar and insistent drums.

At its best, as on songs like the opener, "Blush," "Tuesday" and "Word Gets Around," the singers vocals mesh to create ultra-catchy choruses that are full of hooks. The only drawback of the disc is that it becomes too much. It's overlong at 14 songs, and probably should have been trimmed to a leaner 11 or 12.

Sadly, the disc went nowhere. There was an Australia-only follow-up, Va Va Voom (that I just learned of and haven't heard), a few EPs before and after this disc and a career-summarizing greatest hits disc, but that's it. St. Clare popped up in Nic Dalton's Godstar (a potential future OOTS pick), and Holmes apparently fronted the subsequent band Fragile. Holmes did surface in 2002 for a solo set and seems to have played a part in the band Her Name in Lights. Otherwise, there is little out there about the band or its members.

For one brief shining moment, however, the Hummingbirds released what has become one of the best kept secrets in pop.

MP3: Blush
MP3: Tuesday

Next week: Joe Henry - Scar

Labels: music, OOTS

Many of the records I've written up so far as part of this weekly Out of the Shadows series could be called lost classics or underheard gems. Most at least have a core of admirers, however, be they fans of the specific artist in question or devotees to a particular genre. Today's disc, however, is truly in the shadows. It is a towering achievement of power pop, but it is rarely mentioned even in discussions among the oft-crazed fan of that sound.

The Someloves was an Australian quartet built around the short-lived duo of Australians Dom Mariani and Daryl Mather. Mariani had fronted the Stems, Mather had helped to form the Lime Spiders. They left aside the punkier aspect of their pasts to create a disc of chiming, rocking pop songs full of soaring harmonies and compelling melodies. The result, Something or Other, is among the 10 best power pop albums of all time, no question.

The disc was recorded in Perth by the core foursome, with additional help in subsequent U.S. sessions, and with Mitch Easter at the helm. He assembled an indie rock and power pop all star team for the sessions in North Carolina, including Angie Carlson, Bobby Sutliff and Jamie Hoover. Easter himself played lead guitar on the session. The focus, however, is on the Someloves themselves. Mariani and Mather each have proven with their subsequent work -- the former with the DM3, the latter with the Orange Humble Band -- that they are extremely proficient in writing fantastic pop songs, but, pehaps because of the combination of their talents here, neither has come close to offering as complete a package as this.

From the opening chime of "Melt" to the power chords of "Know You Now" and the sweet, driving chorus of "I Didn't Mean That," the duo knocks out potential hit after hit. It's an impressive dozen songs that has few if any slack moments.

And then, nothing. There were a couple of singles issued in support of the disc, but that was it. They didn't tour, the disc was never released in the U.S. and the pair never followed it up. All we have is a 2006 reissue that includes everything band recorded, essentially gathering this album, a couple of outtakes and single B-sides.

MP3: Know You Now
MP3: Sunshine's Glove

Next week: The Hummingbirds - loveBuzz

Labels: music, OOTS

I hesitate to do so, but I'll start today's entry by quoting a bit of juvenilia. I published a zine for a few years in the 1990s called Sticks and Stones (back issues, as always, are available for sale here), and in an early issue, I interviewed Run On drummer Rick Brown. At the time I was still learning how to flex my rock crit muscles, and came up with this as a way to describe the band:

"Take a look at Run On on a part-by-part basis -- wanky guitarist, busy percussionist, artsy violinist and singing bassist -- and it sounds intriguing, but would you really want to hear the result? Not likely. Add personalities to the mix, and things become more intriguing still, and make you want to hear what this odd mix of talents and styles sounds like."

The thing is, after more than a decade of writing extensively about rock music, I'm no closer to capturing what it is like to hear a Run On album. Thanks to a lifetime of listening crammed into that decade, I can now reference like-minded bands such as Yo La Tengo and Antietam who blend sounds and styles to create something unique. But that doesn't get at what a disc like Start Packing sounds like.

I can wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone with adventurous tastes, anyone who might read the slightly tortured description above and say, "Actually, I would like to hear the result." Things start with Sue Garner, now an acclaimed solo artist on Thrill Jockey and then known better as part of Fish and Roses and the Shams. Her simple songs are slinky, a bit sexy and offer the perfect framework for that "busy percussionist," her husband Brown. The "wanky guitarist," downtown scene-maker Alan Licht, colors the songs with inventive, often incongruous yet intuitive lines, and multi-instrumentalist David Newgarden fills in the gaps. The band is at its best here when it finds a groove and fully explores and exploits it. "Go There" is the most successful track for doing just that, while several others here show fits of brilliance when they follow suit.

The band didn't last much longer, issuing the more urbane follow up, No Way a year later. Part of that refinement can be credited to Katie Gentile, a violinist who replaced Greenberger. Her presence sweetens the band's sound, though the abstract, jagged edges remain. Garner went on to that solo career that echoes the best moments of her old band (those being the moments where she, rather than one of the fellas, sings), while the rest have been relatively quiet of late.

MP3: Go There
MP3: Xmas Trip

Next week: The Someloves - Something or Other

Labels: music, OOTS

For years I have wondered whatever became of the Mings. The Minneapolis band put out one great pop record in 1991, The Big Band Sound of the Mings, and then disappeared. The disc was too good for all involved to have simply vanished, so every once in a while I would ask a friend from the Twin Cities if they knew what became of the band, and later, I would poke around the Internet searching for clues.

A while back, I hit paydirt. Singer, guitarist and songwriter Paul Hiraga resurfaced in Seattle with the band Downpilot, a group with three good-to-great discs to its name. While the songs were moodier, incorporating more experimental and alt-country touches – not unlike latter-day Wilco in spots – the sensibilities that propelled the best of the Mings’ songs remained. I contacted Hiraga to get the scoop about the Mings and he kindly obliged.

Everything was formed around Hiraga’s songs, the trio fleshed out by what Hiraga calls “jobbers” who made their living playing many different gigs. A four-song demo caught the ear of Crackpot Records’ Dave Biljin, who said he wanted more songs and would put it all out as an album. The Mings' debut joined the first disc from Golden Smog and the work of other Twin Cities-related groups on the short-lived label.

“The album came out and got good reviews and we were starting to gain a nice following, with the whole resurgence of interest in Big Star-ish pop, the Posies and Teenage Fanclub (who we played a bill with) were just starting out,” he said. “But I would try to book shows and my jobber bassist and drummer would constantly tell me they couldn't play the shows. So I got fed up and told them we were done and decided I had had it with Minneapolis so I moved west.”

He said he did return to Minneapolis briefly and formed a band called Max Press with Paul Novak (Sycamores, Mosedales) and Dave Domal (Mandrakes, Vertigo).

“We were doing stuff that was a little slower and darker, more towards what Downpilot would become,” he said. “But we never released anything and I moved back to Seattle.”

What is left is a great out-of-print disc that blends Hiraga’s clear, soaring vocals, crisp guitar and hooks aplenty. From the opening blast of "King Up Here" to the mid-tempo beauty "My Ground" and the hooky "So I'll Try," it is a hidden gem of the early '90s pop scene. His is one of dozens of such stories, talented songwriters who can’t quite find the right elements to put them over the top. Minneapolis in the late ’80s and early ’90s was riddled with such talents, including Chris Dorn (whose Beatifics still slog it out today), Devin Hill (who once fronted the Mandrakes and Iowa City’s Dangtrippers) and many others.

The Mings end was, if not ignominious, certain dispiriting.

“Our very last show was at a school a friend of mine worked at playing to a bunch of elementary-to-middle-school kids, an end-of-the-school-year party he conned me into playing,” Hiraga said. “We played one Mings song and I was so mortified I made the bassist sing covers for the rest of the set. The Mings and puppet show. A fitting end.”

MP3: King Up Here
MP3: The Big Band Sound

Next week: Run On - Start Packing

Labels: music, OOTS

When I arrived in Iowa City in the late '80s to start college, I was excited at the prospect of seeing live shows at the local rock club. I wasn't even particular about what I would see, mostly just jazzed at the prospect of seeing live music. One of the first -- if not the first -- touring bands I saw was Scruffy the Cat, a show that started an intense love affair that led to many, many spins of the band's debut long-player, Tiny Days.

The Boston quintet had Iowa roots, with founders Charlie Chesterman and Mac Paul Stanfield having done time in Des Moines band The Law (which included future Young Fresh Fellow Tad Hutchinson on drums) before heading to Beantown in search of success. That probably explains the frequent appearances in Iowa City. Whatever the reason, I was assured of a good time every two or three months thanks to Scruffy's frequent shows.

The band was still touring behind Tiny Days when I first saw it, so I had the chance to become intimately familiar with its songs. At its best, Scruffy mixed rock, blues, country, rockabilly and punk into something didn't quite sound like anything other than Scruffy the Cat. Most of the credit goes to Chesteman for his clever lyrics and catchy songs, but the band was tight and knew what each song needed to work. The result is a record that will never make a best-of-anything list, but that is more fun than most such discs combined.

From the stomp of "My Baby She's Allright" and "When Your Ship Comes In" to the sweet pop of "Time Never Forgets" and "Hello Angel," there is a lot to like here. At times this feels like a tribute record, the songs conveying a timeless feel that is as much homage as recreation.

The band never regained that balance, its reach exceeding its grasp on the follow-up, Moons of Jupiter. That's not a bad record, but it lacks the energy and spark of its predecessor. The band split soon after, with Chesterman going solo for a career that, while considerable lower profile, continues unabated.
For a brief moment that perfectly coincided with my own full immersion in what was then termed "college rock," however, Scruffy the Cat was about the most dependable band there was, and it's still a treat to pull out Tiny Days and take it for a spin.

MP3: My Baby She's Allright
MP3: Hello Angel

Next week: The Mings - Big Band Sound

Labels: music, OOTS

As with a few past and future Out of the Shadows selections, this disc is one of a handful from the band in question that is worthy of the spotlight. Moving Targets is an undeservedly little known band from Boston’s post-hardcore days. As Bill Janovitz from fellow Beantown scene band Buffalo Tom puts it in the All Music Guide, they are a “seminal link in a chain that joins hardcore and other early-'80s Boston music strains like collegiate art rock and folk-rock to '90s alternative rock.”

Most fans would likely choose one of the band’s first two discs, Burning in Water or Brave Noise. Both are great, but it is their third disc, Fall, that I come back to most often. It tempers a bit of the fury and emphasizes the strong hooks of songwriter, guitarist and vocalist Ken Chambers.

Few discs open with instrumentals, and fewer still can hook the listener with one. That’s the skill of Chambers, who has sprinkled compelling instrumental tracks throughout his discography. He opens here with the logically named “Taang Intro,” which pins the ears back with a bass-fueled blast that gives way to a scorching little guitar solo, all in less than two minutes. That sets the stage for the surprisingly subtle “Only Life of Fun,” as good a track as any to use as a way to explain Chambers’ songwriting gift. He’s one of the few post-punkers who can mix a big, soaring chorus with with insistent guitar rock without it feeling like pandering. He does so again and again here, including “Answer” and “Away From Me.”

The band went on to make one more disc, the slightly uneven but still good Take This Ride before hanging it up. Chambers cut a handful of solo discs, including the import-only gem Double Negative and the instrumental guitar record Sin Cigarros.

At one time, that seemed to be it; much like Denzil, Chambers seemed to disappear. But thanks to a timely Google search, I found a MySpace page with information about a Moving Targets reunion, as well as about four other groups Chambers fronts that play variations on his guitar-heavy poppy punk – Stone Strangers, American Pulverizer, Dead Tenets and Golden Arrows. I fear for his ability to focus, but hope that the reunited Moving Targets have at least one more great album in them.

MP3: Only Life of Fun
MP3: Away From Me

Next week: Dumptruck - for the country

Labels: music, OOTS

It took more than a decade, but Tim O’Reagan is finally getting his due. Most people know O’Reagan as the drummer for the Jayhawks who issued his first solo disc in 2006. A few, however, know him for his disc with Todd Newman as the Leatherwoods, Topeka Oratorio. That disc, issued by Twin/Tone imprint Medium Cool in 1992, was a pop classic, blending vintage pop-rock and folk. Taking nothing away from O’Reagan’s later work, it’s the most consistently rewarding disc with which he has been associated.

While he shoulders much of that credit, his bandmate also deserves considerable praise. Newman’s songwriting contributions are the stronger ones here, from the opening chime of “Proof Positive” through to the ending bittersweet ballad “Happy Ain’t Comin’ Home.” His songs are more lived-in, reflecting the downside of relationships and life in general. O’Reagan’s songs, in contrast, are more upbeat lyrically.

The duo came together in Minneapolis, but Newman originally hailed from Topeka. That explains the album’s strange title, a strange play on Paul McCartney’s Liverpool Oratorio, a commissioned classical work issued the year before the Leatherwoods disc.

The pair had some high-profile help with the disc, though it takes a bit of digging to figure that out. Paul Westerberg, under the name Pablo Louseorama contributes guitar, bass and keyboards, and co-wrote two songs as well. O’Reagan also sings two songs written by Alan Oliver, a long-time low-profile power popper who now goes by the name Will Ivy.

In the end, the success of this record can be traced to the interplay between O’Reagan and Newman. Each has a raspy voice that is compelling on its own, but together, they harmonize beautifully. The photo on the inside of the disc shows the two on stage, strumming acoustic guitars. I never had the chance to see them perform, but I can imagine the blissful state of seeing them together.

O’Reagan now has the higher profile, with his past and perhaps future work with the Jayhawks and his recent solo disc. Newman has a deeper solo catalog, with a solo LP and EP to his name. He also has recorded with Lori Wray and others, and is currently (if their web page is still to be believed) with the Hang Ups.

MP3: Jamboree

MP3: How Can I Miss You

Next week: Moving Targets - Fall

Labels: music, OOTS

I’ll just get it out of the way right now, digging myself a hole that I’ll spend the rest of this post filling back up: I can’t listen to Died Pretty without thinking of the Doors.

There, now we can get past that. Most people with any taste likely went through a Doors phase and have long since moved on (an event also known as 8th grade graduation). Anyone still in their Doors phase probably isn’t reading this blog. But without the Doors as a reference point, it’s difficult to explain the wonders of Died Pretty, particularly on the band’s best disc, Doughboy Hollow. There’s the swirling organ, the menacing grooves and the melodramatic vocalist, all fusing to create larger than life songs.

But that’s where the similarities end, for there is no Died Pretty phase, but rather an ever-evolving appreciation. The band, which split in 2002, hailed from Australia, and while there are elements of that country’s dark, fractured pop within its sound, that’s only a small part of what it offers. On Doughboy Hollow, the band’s fifth album, it successfully blends typically Aussie pop smarts, the gothic haze of 60s rock and the slow-burn urgency of post punk. The result is a collection of songs that swoop and soar, from the sweet highs of “D.C., “Godbless” and “Out in the Rain” to the darker, more ruminative dirges “Sweetheart” and “Satisfied.”

The band’s strengths were many, but at its heart Died Pretty was singer Roland S. Peno and guitarist Brett Myers, who co-wrote every track here. On previous efforts, all worth hearing, the band traded more in noirish constructs; on Doughboy Hollow, those shadows are lightened by clever hooks that make the resulting contrast all the more rewarding.

The disc is marred somewhat by that huge, echo-laden production (handled here by Hugh Jones) that tends to date music from the late-80s and early-90s, but the songs transcend that limitation. Its follow-up, Trace, suffers from more of the same and a seemingly misguided idea that a hit could be had. Even so, it contains several terrific songs, making this underappreciated band’s full catalog one worthy of exploration, starting with Doughboy Hollow.

MP3: D.C.
MP3: Satisfied

Next week: The Leatherwoods - Topeka Oratorio

Labels: music, OOTS

I love the Internet. It seemed as if Denzil’s debut longplayer, Pub, was destined to remain an underheard cult classic about which I knew absolutely nothing beyond the fact that I loved hearing it. That has been the case since its 1994 release on the now-defunct Warner subsidiary Giant Records. Fast forward to last week, however, and I have now heard new Denzil songs, watched a vintage live performance clip and a music video, have read a detailed description of the recording of Pub and learned that a new disc and live shows are on the horizon.

Oh, and I corresponded a bit with Denzil himself, the results of which are at the end of this post. The band is back together, working on a new disc with the hope of coming to the U.S. for a supporting tour.

So, why the obsession with Denzil? In a word, Pub. It’s a fantastic album, filled with bright, catchy and tuneful songs about May-December romances, eccentric families, insecurity and heartbreak. A reference point might be a more jangly John Wesley Harding or a modern Ray Davies, with songs driven largely by a manically strummed acoustic guitar and bitingly clever lyrics.

That’s clear from first song, “Fat, Loose and Fancies Me,” the aforementioned tale of an ill-advised romance between a young girl and a fortysomething man. After neatly summing up her reservations with the line, “She knows she loves her father but she can’t imagine doing this with him,” he tells things from the man’s point of view:

In six weeks time, she says, naturally
”You're not the man that you used to be.”
And he says “Darling, how could I be?
When you were born, I was 23.
And married in love, like a stallion in stud,
And now I weave this network of fibs.
I write a mid-life pantomime – you're younger than my kids.”

After seemingly being off the grid for more than a decade, Denzil is not only back, but very accessible. He took the time earlier this week to respond to a few questions about where he has been and how he feels to be back.

TIRBD: Why, after a decade away, have you begun the process of coming back into the light with a new disc and some live dates?

DT: It’s about the record really; it’s like unfinished business now and I really had the itch to write again. The decade has only helped us to focus; the idea you have to bung a record out every half an hour always annoyed me anyway, think of us as a periodical novelist! Getting a great deal of support for Pub from all sorts of sources online really helped as well, you get to a point when you think “bugger it; we should really get it done properly to compliment Pub.” The live shows help us get a feel for it again.

What were you doing in the meantime? I read something about “working in the music business.”

I worked in music management (for my old manager Peter Jenner), then for a management/venue chain in the UK called Barfly, then I was Biz Dev manager at the NME for a few years before setting up my own music marketing consultancy. That was bought out a couple of months back and I now head up the music and entertainment department at a major UK marketing agency. At times what I do is more creative than making music (although not really comparable) – I’m very involved in the business still, which is great.

Are you surprised/delighted/frustrated that people seem to finally be coming around to recognize the wonders of Pub?

Do you know, after 10 years this is one of five interviews I’ve done in the past week? What’s that all about? I’m not frustrated at all, I am a little surprised and I’m naturally delighted. All of us are enormously proud of Pub; I’ve always personally thanked anyone who writes to tell us they love it, without sounding like a wanker we have a pretty personal relationship with those tatty old songs!

What can we expect from the new material? Hearing the songs you have up on MySpace, it’s clear there are plenty of similarities to your Pub-era work, but are there many differences?

The MySpace tracks are demos, some are getting on a bit as well! We’ve experimented with quite a few demos up there. I actually asked a few regulars, “Don’t you think that this song or that song is sort of un-Denzil?” and they all said that Pub was so eclectic they wouldn’t be surprised whatever we did! What we’ve started recording this time is also very eclectic – so you could say that the material is the same by being different! We have a couple of rules, me singing and an acoustic guitar is the theme I suppose, so that will be the main similarity. The core subject matter has shifted though, and because that’s why I write, it will make the whole thing completely different in flavour.

MP3: Fat, Loose and Fancies Me
MP3: Useless

Next week: Died Pretty - Doughboy Hollow

Labels: music, OOTS

A power pop-loving friend always left me scratching my head when he would dismiss bands I thought fit the bill on both counts, bringing the power and the pop. “This doesn’t rock,” he’d say when I would play him something like the Someloves or Superstar. He was looking for something with the raw power of the first Cheap Trick disc, and the discs I was playing him were too pretty, too slick.

I haven’t had the chance to play him Arlo’s sophomore disc and swansong, Stab, the Unstoppable Hero, but I challenge him to doubt the band’s ability to bring the rock. The disc is a hook-laden, power-chord driven collection of tightly packed pop songs.

One could be forgiven for thinking that it is a concept record of sorts, but the title and cover art aside, there seems to be no overarching story. Instead, it’s a collection of a dozen songs from three surprisingly simpatico songwriters who each have found something new to mine from the standard guitar-bass-drums lineup.

The group got its start as Otto, pairing collegiate songwriters Sean Spillane and Nate Greely. After lineup changes, name changes and the release of a single, the band issued its full-length debut on SubPop. It’s a ragged, not terribly well produced collection with a decent song or two. Even after falling in love with Stab, I found it impossible to get into the debut. It’s not a bad record by any stretch; in hindsight it’s easy to discern the promise SubPop saw in the band. But Stab is such a step up as to seem to be not even from the same band.

The sophomore disc opens with a great 1-2-3 punch with a song by each of the band’s then three songwriters. Greely’s “Little American” sets the pace, breezing by in a hook-filled 2:21. Spillane’s “Working Title” offers a brief respite before the group dives into “Runaround,” a near-rockabilly rave-up from bassist Ryan “Shmedley” Maynes. It’s as solid an opening as you’ll find on a power pop disc.

From there, you get Greely’s singsong title track, Spillane’s brilliant “Culture” and a handful of other punky power pop songs. Reference points are many, including the Figgs, Sloan and even a bit of Weezer. Add in the fact that Ben Vaughn produced (after having mixed the tapes for Up High) and S. britt provided the artwork (seen in full here), and you get a modern minor classic.

Alas, Arlo imploded after the disc. Spillane is seemingly MIA, while Greely now fronts the band Yes Dear. Its sound is not unlike that found on Up High¸ and while that’s promising, it pales in comparison to Stab and the points beyond it for which Arlo seemed destined.

MP3: Runaround
MP3: Culture

Next week: Denzil - Pub

Labels: music, OOTS

2006 may well go down as the year when everyone became a critic. Thanks to blogging, social networking sites, podcasts and the like, everyone with an opinion had a ready outlet to share it. Trouble is, too often those voices seemed to join together to praise and subsequently condemn the same slate of artists.

That’s an overly simplified argument to be sure, but every time I would read more fawning praise for the aural equivalent of the emperor’s new clothes, it made me treasure all the more those suggestions from bloggers that led me to some hidden gem or undeserving budget bin fodder. With that in mind, I offer Out of the Shadows, a weekly look at albums that I love but which, for whatever reason, fell through the cracks.

It’s fitting to start such a feature with Come Clean. I bought this on the suggestion from a friend around the time of its release in 1998 (rescuing it from the used racks at Cheapo in Minneapolis), and haven’t gone more than a couple of months without pulling it out since. On the surface, it’s little more than an accomplished collection of folk-pop tunes, but many, many repeat listens over the past eight years show it to be one of the most durable such collections in memory, one without a weak track or slack moment.

The band revolves around husband and wife team Jake Smith and Freda Love. Both are veterans of other bands – he of Antenna, she of the Blake Babies. Come Clean is their second disc, following major label bow Keep a Secret. It was a tremendous step up, Smith’s songs and singing stripped down to only the bare necessities. RCA clearly was behind this at some point, as the label issued an early promo copy with different songs and mixes before settling on the final product. Alas, despite great reviews, it seemed to sink without a trace.

Its charms are found in its simplicity. The songs are built on the typical guitar-bass-drums template, as on the opener, “Come Clean.” Smith picks out a line on acoustic guitar before brushed drums and bass join in. He sings over top, the verse doing more than killing time until the chorus. When the chorus hits, however, the song lifts, a cello adding buoyancy to the whole. There’s a short electric guitar bit and some harmonica, but that’s it, and it’s not much different on the rest of the tracks. When your melodies are this strong, the choruses this addictive, you don’t need bells and whistles.

Listening to demos of some of the finished tracks helps to emphasize the point. Save for some modest changes in tempo and slight differences in instrumentation, the final product differs little from these initial sketches. Far from a failure of imagination when considering the arrangements, the similarity in fact points to the simplistic brilliance of the songs from the very start. Such sturdy melodies need little in the way of augmentation to be put across. At the same time, that simplicity – which usually means a record will hit quickly and then fall from grace as its lack of nuance renders it a bit tired – is somehow overcome. These songs bear repeat listens; many, many repeat listens. Since its release in 1998, I’ve listened to few discs as often as this.

The band continues to make music, albeit with a lower profile. Dale Lawrence of the (late?) great Vulgar Boatmen continues to contribute here and there, as he did on Come Clean, and from the sound of things, they continue to mine the same vein of melodic, organic folk-pop. Their latest release, and third since Come Clean, was 2006’s Beginning to Move.

MP3: Downhill
MP3: Tell Me

Next week: Arlo – Stab, the Unstoppable Hero

Labels: music, OOTS