There aren't many acts that were big when I was in college that are still making relevant music, likely for the same reason I'm not headed out to clubs much these days to hear their successors: Life (and age) gets in the way. So it was a surprise to hear Secrets of the New Explorers from Glen Phillips. While I was an eager listener in the earliest days of his band Toad the Wet Sprocket --the band's debut, Bread and Circus was issued the summer after my freshman year, and was on the playlist of every sensitive indie rocker that fall semester -- I outgrew Toad about the time grunge took hold.

I knew Phillips had embarked on a solo career, but didn't pay him much mind until this EP showed up in the mailbox. The premise is intriguing: The son of two scientists, he and collaborator John Askew discussed ideas while recording that led to a batch of songs about space. Three songs were completed, with Phillips recording an additional three solo. The result is a clever, catchy EP.

It sounds like Phillips if you know what you're listening for, but I was surprised at the maturity of his sound. Credit the fact that he started with Toad while still a teenager, and is now a guy in his mid 30s. I wish more of my favorites from way back had stayed in the game in this fashion. Too many give up or put together years-in-the-making albums that fall flat. Phillips had an idea, came up with an EP's worth of songs and put it out. Simple, and the kind of experiment that more artists would do well to emulate.

The disc is surprisingly diverse given its quick completion and its brevity. "They'll Find Me" and "Return to Me" seem the most Toadlike, while "Solar Flare" seems like a sweet lullaby about, um, radiation poisoning. "Space Elevator," with a faux funky vibe is one I could take or leave, but everything else is pleasant and compelling.

In just 20 short minutes, Phillips reasserts himself as someone for me to watch, with a model that ought to be emulated by any creative artists with access to a home studio and some ideas to explore.

MP3: Solar Flare

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

Perhaps this time the press sheet really does tell the tale. I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was about Sons of William's disc What Hides Inside that kept me from feeling anything more than mind admiration for its competent craftsmanship. The band bio, however, tipped me off. Guitarist and singer Joe Stark "used to think of himself as a solo entity or as a hired gun, having been offered to play guitar with Avril Lavigne, Marc Broussard, Will Hoge, and Rock Star INXS, amongst others."

There it is: A laundry list of blandness. From being a hired gun -- someone brought on board expressly because they have no identifiable personality that might detract from the star -- to heralding such a near-miss resume, it's clear Joe has yet to discover who he wants to be as an artist.

His brother, drummer David, is another problem. The beat drags here and there, just enough to detract from the songs, and the way the drums were recorded makes them annoyingly up front in several instances.

All that said, there is clear talent on display here. The disc sounds like one of those AOR station hits of the year compilations, a bunch of faceless songs that share decent hooks, a lack of dynamics and an absence of grit. No two songs sound alike, and while that can be a good thing, here it means the band doesn't seem to have its own identity. Opener "The Message" has solid hooks, sounding like a bar band covering a Pete Yorn B-side, but it is followed a couple songs later by "Easy to Love," a song that is a hitch in the beat away from being Nashville worthy, followed later by the manufactured menace of "Lucifer Hands." All are perfectly good songs, but nothing elevates any of them. You won't press the skip button, but you won't press repeat, either.

A prediction: Joe actually does become a hired gun or solo artist, or perhaps a songwriter-for-hire, or perhaps a few months on the road will help the Sons of William settle on their own true sound. Until then, What Hides Inside will stand as a testament to unfulfilled promise.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

It's not often a band can start its own genre, but you heard it here first: Milton and the Devil's Party trade in jangle noir. OK, I know that sounds strange, if not ridiculous; but hear me out. The band's sonic template puts it squarely in the early- to mid-'80s Southern indie-rock tradition of bands like R.E.M. and the Windbreakers, all chiming guitars, loping tempos and bright, melodic vocals. Yet those vocals tell erudite tales of woe, or, as the one-sheet sent with the band's sophomore disc, How Wicked We've Become puts it: "The record began as a study in bad people -- or, more accurately, ordinary people doing bad things or finding themselves caught in patterns of behavior that define them as wicked, lost or merely failed." If there's a more succinct definition of noir, bring it on.

All of that would mean nothing if this wasn't undeniably catchy music. It would fit comfortably in the racks alongside the early work of the two aforementioned bands, as well as that of like-minded acts like Velvet Crush and even Paul Kelly, the Australian singer-songwriter who crafts similarly literate tunes.

Oh yes, about that: The band makes much about the fact that they've finally admitted that the two core members -- singer-bassist Daniel Robinson and guitarist Mark Graybill -- are English professors. Whatever. Again, literate lyrics are great, but if they're not wedded to excellent hooks, they don't count for much. How many hits does Leonard Cohen have? That said, Robinson's lyrics are deliciously intricate and smart. The taunt of "I've Had Your Wife" is elevated by clever lines like "We're relaxed as a beast with two backs, and you wonder why she's getting home so late," alluding to Shakespeare's metaphor for sexual congress. Elsewhere, Robinson sings on "Muse of Mundanity" of a guy who wishes his girlfriend were smarter because she doesn't offer suitable inspiration to spur him to creative heights.

Robinson must have a brainy significant other, because with How Wicked We've Become is a tight burst of jangling pop music that actually makes you feel smarter by the time the final track spins. At it's core, it's a disc of songs for and by adults. So much of power pop is about teenage boys who are frightened of the opposite sex. Here, Robinson offers pointed thoughts about what it means to be grown up. On "Too Old to Die," he leavens such heavy thoughts with a few turns of phrase, including this verse: "Well, I thought there's be time for me to have more fun/ I thought there'd be time to be number one/ But misery is a luxury when you're seventeen (or you're Morrissey)/ But now I've got people depending on me/ I've got to be and not not to be."

All of that might add up to something to precious for some, and I'll admit reading the above might turn me off if I hadn't had the chance to hear the songs first. But if this sounds at all intriguing, go check out the band's MySpace page to hear a few tracks. You'll be happy you did.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

This is the kind of record that makes keeping a blog worthwhile. I've written about music for more than a decade, and that means a lot of CDs have arrived in my mailbox, unannounced and unsolicited. I have a good idea of what I'll like, and request such things accordingly, The discs I don't request are usually a crapshoot. I'll give anything a few moments of my time, and usually that's all it takes to realize I won't care to spend much more in its company.

And then there is a disc like The Strangest Colored Lights by 13ghosts. I'd never heard of the band, but was intrigued enough by the album title and cover to throw it into the CD player in my car one day recently. It hasn't spent much time out of it since. The band, based in Birmingham, Ala., seems centered on the songs of Brad Armstrong and Buzz Russell. I haven't figured out which is which just yet, but suffice to say that they are very different. The songs here veer from buzzing indie-pop to rustic backporch twang, though that isn't as whiplash-inducing as one might think.

There is an air of mystery to this which I must admit is appealing, that sort of thing that makes a band yours for a while until everyone else catches up. From what I can gather, this will be the band's fourth disc (it is scheduled for release in March) and its second on Skybucket Records. Beyond that, everything I can glean comes from reviews of its last, well-received disc, Cicada. The band isn't much help, offering a quote from Stephen Crane about a "creature, naked, bestial" eating its own bitter heart from its hands while squatting in the desert as its official bio. It takes its name from a horror film, though that seems more ill-fitting than anything.

Still, mystery without good music is enough to keep someone's interest for a moment or two, so while it may help spur people like me to dig deeper, the songs are what will keep me. The descriptions of Cicada make it sound like the work of a band with a lot of ideas and an unwillingness to edit itself, pouring everything out in the hope that something will stick. Without having heard it, I can say this one must surely be more focused. It is diverse, but there is a consistency of tone and intent here. The two singers' styles may be very different, but they don't fight against one another.

The catch with receiving a disc well before its release date is that you can grow tired of it by the time everyone else finally hears it. If that becomes the case with The Strangest Colored Lights -- something I doubt -- it's nice to know there is plenty more music where this came from as I work my way back through the band's catalog.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

I was fully under the spell of power pop in the late 1990s, but somehow the Grip Weeds eluded my ears. I had heard of the band -- heard it was among the finest of what had become a crowded field of power poppers, in fact -- but I simply didn't follow up. I know I heard the group on compilations, and eventually picked up one of its later albums, but it's debut, House of Vibes, never graced my CD player.

Until now. Playing on the trend of constant re-evaluation and reissue in the world of popular music, the band has cleaned up the sound of the disc through what sounds like a fairly intensive remastering process. Old tapes recorded in DIY fashion in the actual House of Vibes that gives the album its name were remastered, with tracks that had been combined at the time now separated for clarity's sake. Not being privy to the original, I'm not sure how much better this sounds, but I can say it sounds pretty great.

Though it has only been 13 years since the disc's original release, it seems like a smart move to revisit it. The Grip Weeds became a better, more accomplished band since, but there's something about this debut that captivates at times. The rough edges of the band's sound have been smoothed a bit, but here the garage rock the members clearly love is an obvious and welcome influence. The hook may come in the soaring three-part harmonies, but the thing that keeps those confections from sounding too sweet is the grit of the overdriven, distorted guitars and the pounding drums that give things a libidinous pulse.

The quartet -- brothers Rick and Kurt Reil (guitar and drums, respectively) are joined by guitarist Kristen Pinell on vocals, while on this disc bass is handled by Mick Hargrave -- crafted a dozen catchy pop songs here. Standouts include the rockers "Salad Days" and "Someone," as well as the more dreamlike "Edge of Forever." This revisited version includes even more, with demos of songs on the album and those that didn't make it, live tracks and acoustic sessions. There are even a few radio interview snippets interspersed throughout, making it sound like one long radio program.

I'm not sure why I fell away from power pop a few years ago, though the ratio of good to bad as the genre exploded made looking for a good disc akin to strolling through a mine field (something that also led to a disenchantment with alt-country). Reconnecting with the Grip Weeds has been a pleasant surprise, and House of Vibes Revisited gives me a welcome chance to make up for lost time.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

The easy comparison to draw with regard to Amy Cooper's music is that of Liz Phair. Rock chick with a guitar, simple but forceful songs and a take-no-crap attitude. That's Phair, right? Maybe, but it's not fair, because Cooper, while possessing much of what made Phair and the pretenders to her ballsy-chick throne in the early 1990s, has things in the plus and minus columns that make the comparison lazy at best, simply wrong at worst. Her new EP, mirrors, is a prime example.

As evidenced by the seven songs here, Cooper is a much more accomplished guitarist than Phair, and she has a better voice as well. Her songs are more conventional, and thus easier to grasp. At the same time, that conventionality means there is little to unlock here, so it remains to be seen if these will hold up to repeat listens. And while her lyrics aren't bad, they do traffic in the kind of generalities that Phair eschewed.

Taken on its own merits, mirrors is a brisk, catchy listen. Over the course of seven originals, Cooper sticks to a simple formula of guitar, bass and drums (she handles the guitar, Frank Lenz plays bass and drums). The songs take on a depth on the choruses where Cooper multi-tracks her own voice to good effect, elevating her solid hooks and giving the songs a thrust that keeps the listener engaged. When she does shift the dynamics, as on the slow burner "You Can't Have It All," she falls closer to the work of Aimee Mann, showing that she has more range than might be evident from the first few tracks.

The song drawing the most attention is "25," a minute-long solo tune that finds Cooper singing over her own guitar strums, "I thought everything would be finalized by the time I was 25." Most people probably felt that way at some point. That Cooper realizes it and seems to see it as an open door to a room full of topics to explore lyrically is a good sign. I'll be curious to hear what she's up to by the time her angst about turning 30 sets in.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

The band Fourth of July has a sound that I didn't realize until hearing it that I've missed. At one time, it seemed as if there were dozens of bands recording and releasing albums like On the Plain -- cheap-sounding, catchy, clever and palatably earnest discs that don't bowl you over but instead simply entertain you consistently.

But those days, sadly, are gone, and it's the rare treat like On the Plain that reminds you of what you once took for granted. All of that seems like a lot of hype, so let me be clear: This is not a great album. It won't make many "best CDs of the year" lists, nor will it engender slavish devotion on the part of listeners. But I don't imagine that was the goal of the Hangauer brothers at the core of the group.

Instead, I would imagine, they simply wanted to make the kind of music they like to hear. If that is the case, I'm with them. Brendan Hangauer has a knack with simple tunes -- I'm no virtuoso, but I'm confident I could figure out how to play this entire album on guitar in an afternoon. These stick with you, and, big compliment coming, they make you want to hear them again. The best reference I have (and I mean it as no slight) is if Conor Oberst had a sense of humor. What I always assumed was simply a dislike of Oberst's voice is now revealed, thanks to Hangauer's similar pipes, to be a dislike of Oberst himself. Go figure.

Songs like "Why Did I Drink So Much Last Night?" and "The Faint" (which, yes, deals with a girl who listens to the Faint) are so quirky and quaint that you're initially sure they were made up on the spot. Subtle touches like backing harmonies, horns and other elements convince you over time that this is a studied simplicity, and that somehow makes this all the more charming.

I never know what to expect when I open the mail and find a CD by a band I've never heard of, but the next time I find one like On the Plains, I'll wonder if it isn't my birthday. Go to Range Life Records to hear for yourself.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

It's a great time to be a fan of rare vintage soul and funk music. Much like the "Nuggets"-related crate digging over the past couple decades that unearthed hundreds of great, previously unknown garage and psych singles, a new effort is underway to do the same thing with R'n'B music from the '60s and '70s. The result has been a flood of great product into the market, with compilations galore that offer scads of slabs of great, greasy soul and chunky funk.

The latest efforts come from the Rabbit Factory label, each gathering tracks recorded at a particular studio. The first is The Birmingham Sound: The Soul of Neal Hemphill Vol. 1. As one could guess, the disc compiles tracks recorded at the Sound of Birmingham and Hemphill Studios, both in Birmingham, Ala., by Neal Hemphill. The tracks were cut in the '60s and '70s, and range from the instrumental soul of Broadneck to the sweet soul of Chuck Strong and the harder beats of the Blue Notes. There is filler here, but much of the disc is a treat, offering songs that, while previously unknown, feel like lost hits.

The second and stronger of the two discs is Soul Resurrection: The Playground Series Vol. 1. The disc gathers soul tracks recorded at the Playground Recording Studio in Valparaiso, Fla., under the watchful eye of producer Finley Duncan. The disc was compiled by Jim Lancaster, a producer and performer who plans to record at the studio again. He gathered tracks from more than a dozen artists I'd never heard of, most great, that run the gamut from hard funk to smooth soul to nascent disco. It's a great collection, one that plays like a mix tape of shoulda-been hits. From shouter Reuben Howell, who's "Bad Habit Baby" gives the disc a kick start, to the raspy pipes of Doris Allen, who takes a run through "I'll Keep on Loving You" and "Heavy on My Mind," the disc is populated by great performances. Standouts include Jimmy Gresham's "Chasin' a Rainbow," Johnny Soul's "Sang This Son" and Count Willie with Leroy and the Dukes' "The Funky Muscle."

The titles of these discs hint at further volumes culled from the vaults of these two studios. If the quality is on par with what is offered here, subsequent releases would be welcome additions to the burgeoning catalog of unearthed soul now available. It's great to see these artists getting their due, even 30-plus years after the fact.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

My initial interest in Elk City was sparked by word that former Luna guitarist Sean Eden had joined the band. While he couldn't just go off and do anything he wanted, a former member for a critically acclaimed, moderately successful band like Luna could surely pick and choose his spots, so joining a band I'd never heard of seemed like a pretty solid endorsement.

I was distressed upon opening the band's latest disc, New Believers, to see that Eden only played on three of the 11 tracks. He was an 11th hour addition, it seemed, and would probably have had little impact on the overall sound. I needn't have worried. The core duo of Renee LoBue and Ray Ketchem need no assistance to create a compelling, crafty collection of songs that seem beholden to no specific genre. Because LoBue handles the vocals, the natural tendency is to draw comparisons to other female-fronted groups. What really sticks out is a girl group and/or Brill Building vibe. There is a classicism at work here that clashes tastefully with the hipster/modern musical approach. The result is a disc full of songs that balance the tension of incongruity with the feeling that every subsequent note in a song is the only note that could have come at that time.

Things start with a bang with "Cherries in the Snow," a rocking little number with simplistic lyrics that nonetheless get lodged in your head. The chorus is essentially a series of "Ooh la las" are pushed along by Ketchem's pulsing drums and one of Eden's few solos, clanging bells recalling Phil Spector or Brian Wilson. From there the disc maintains interest effortlessly, shifting stylistically just enough to make each subsequent song sound fresh while keeping the overall feel of the record consistent.

The hook here is LoBue's voice. Hers is not a classically beautiful voice, but it works wonderfully in this context. When she pushes it, reaching for a note really just of her reach on "My Type of Criminal," the subtle grit that creeps in gives the song a sense of character that no radio-ready diva could match.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

For those missing the heady days when the letters SST stood for high-quality, angular rock, the Unknown Instructors seems like a dream. A trio featuring Saccharine Trust's Joe Baiza on guitar and the Minutmen's George Hurley and Mike Watt on drums and bass, respectively, backing the likes of artist Raymond Pettibon and Pere Ubu's David Thomas... why that's a must buy, right? Well, for anyone who sees those names on cover of the band's sophomore outing, The Master's Voice, and wonders excitedly about what's inside, it surely is.

The surprise, however, comes from the unknown quantity in the Unknown Instructors: Dan McGuire. He's credited here as the group's founder, and he contributes spoken-word vocals on half the tracks. Despite the firepower of the backing band, he's the secret weapon. You'll put this on to hear the interplay between the three jazz-punk-experimental musicians battling it out improvisationally in the background, of course, but McGuire's tracks are the ones you'll return to. The rest aren't bad, just not as good. Pettibon's "Twing-Twang" is too meandering, Thomas's three heavily distorted tracks are the most out there and therefore the least immediately engaging, and Watt's sole vocal contribution, while predictably solid, is not so different from his own work with the Minutemen, fIREHOSE and his solo albums to stand out.

That leaves McGuire, who's deadpan delivery and deceptively lazy-sounding beat poet riffs are surprisingly captivating. The best example is "Machine Language," which finds McGuire ruminating about the way his artistic interests clash with the more pedestrian pursuits of his buddies: "What would my co-workers say, if I didn't simply admit, but flat-out stated, the inner peace I felt strolling in fields of jonquils, lilies, love lies bleeding. Imagine the ribbing endured, just using the word 'strolling,' let alone knowing the names of flowers. Much safer sticking to horsepower..." All the while, Watt, Hurley and Baiza lay down a slinky jazz foundation, Baiza dropping in noises approximating a machine shop with his guitar.

The press sheet quotes an Arthur magazine review that says "it's not SST 1986 but it's close" when referring to the group's debut, The Way Things Work. That's overstating things a bit, but the truth is that The Master's Voice will appeal to anyone still spinning those old vinyl gems, and should entrance younger listeners who are ready check out some real boundary-pushing music.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

The term "Elephant 6" gets thrown around a lot in reference to Maryland band Page France, and it's an easy association to make. Though there are no formal ties between the band and the late-1990s psych-pop collective, there are enough similarities in sound to raise the comparison.

Band leader Michael Nau writes catchy, somewhat quirky and decidedly twee songs that are supported with instrumentation that is both sparse and heavily arranged. Translation: while there is a lot of space in these arrangements, there are a lot of sounds contributing to the overall presentation of the songs. On the band's new disc, ...and the Family Telephone, the result is a collection of sunny, hummable tracks that are full of hooks.

Over the course of 14 songs here, the band doesn't vary things much in terms of style or dynamics, and that gives things a tendency to drag as the album progresses. But individually, the songs are almost uniformly good, and taken in bite-sized chunks of three or four songs, the disc is a rewarding listen.

The quintet is prolific, releasing five discs in four years. Though I had heard the name before this new one showed up in my mailbox, I'd not heard the band. If the quality of ...and the Family Telephone is any indication, I won't be the only one finding out about Page France in 2007.

MP3: Hat and Rabbit

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup

One of the fringe benefits of writing a mildy successful blog is that people send you things to listen to and read. The expectation, of course, is that you'll share your thoughts on the blog. I've received enough discs of late to make a regular feature of reviewing them. Welcome to the Tuesday Tune-up, where I'll write up some of these new discs that have caught my ear. First up: While the City Sleeps from Kalli.

On the first three songs of his solo debut, Kalli’s sound brings to mind Ryan Adams, Damien Rice and Gomez. From there the influences and/or tributes are less obvious, and by the end of the disc the whole thing has evolved to sound like, well, Kalli, one supposes.

If the name is unfamiliar, the sound may not be. Kalli fronted the Icelandic group Without Gravity, whose lone disc, 2005’s Tenderfoot, mined a similar sound. He performed much of this new disc on his own, assisted by producer Arnar G (Do people in Iceland have a phobia about last names? Let’s ask Bjork).

There are many challenges built into this project, but listeners willing to overcome them will find considerable rewards. Start with the name: Kalli sounds like the moniker of a Britpop dance queen. Then there is the cover, its bad reproduction of a strange looking puppet making it look like a low-budget self-released trifle, not the product of a respected indie label like One Little Indian. Finally, most people associate Icelandic music with the quirks of the aforementioned Bjork, so some may steer clear based on geography alone.

Overcome all of that, and you are left with a disc that will grow on you. The artists mentioned at the outset, as well as Jeff Buckley, Coldplay and other breathy/operatic singers backed by moody, atmospheric playing, are fitting reference points. The disc leads off with its best track, “Raindrops,” a shimmering beauty of a song that would have been a highlight on any of Adams’ recent discs. It's an organic sounding gem, and while nothing else on the disc quite reaches these heights, it does set the tone stylistically for what follows.

As the disc progresses, Kalli shakes off his influences, or at least better absorbs them into his own sound. Over the course of its 10 tracks, the whole begins to subsume its parts, creating a fairly seamless, soothing soundscape. That happens in part because the best songs are frontloaded, but even the weaker tracks feel of a piece with the rest of the disc, offering a bridge between meatier tunes.

Labels: music, TuesdayTuneup