Listening with an open mind. Writing about what I hear. Do you have something interesting you'd like to share? Write Mick at thasoundblog@gmail.com. Twitter @thasoundblog
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| Image by Michael Salisbury |
A couple of weeks back I got to talk with Chicago-local hip-hop artist Defcee for the CHIRP Radio Artist Interview Series, where we talked about his new single "Learning Gravity," went into the weeds on his inspirations and sources of gratitude, and what we can learn from watching The Sopranos. You can listen to our conversation here, or below:
Listen to "Learning Gravity" produced by Blockhead
More shades of delight are available from Colorfield Records.
A concrete, thick pour of feedback can help cover up the deficiencies of an otherwise unremarkable song. Everyone knows this. It's why shoegaze bands proliferate in many DIY scenes like bad decisions after bar close. But when there is something worth chiseling through that coarse stratum to retrieve, the extra effort makes the candy core, once reached, all the more delightful. Seattle's Spiral XP is just that kind of shoegaze and they prove it on their engaging EP It's Been a While. Shaving off the slowcore of their earlier release, the band has tuned up a kind of rough and tumble, Pains of Being Pure At Heart-esque soft rumble style powerpop that is as twisty as it is toe-tapping. They produce the kind of noisy, articulate, and rushing romp that resembles the trembling aches of having the wind in your face as you coast along the gutter on your skateboard on a blustery day, a highlight reel of your past triumphs and humiliations rotating in your mind- leaving you both directed and confused, and further, unsure if you're tearing up because, at that moment, you feel alive, or because you're almost certain that you're going to die alone. One of the things that Sprial XP demonstrably has going for them is their strength in writing emotional, hooky tunes, but it's almost as impressive how particularly colorful these songs come across as well. Each track is like a mane of static-collecting peels, unify around the spiral currents of their brash, concerted pounce, the hooks lunging forth like a frilled lizard bursting through a bouquet of tropical flowers in a cork-screw motion to snap a piece of brightly colored confection from between your own loosely biting teeth. Tuff-textured grooves intertwine like the conduction-resistant coated guts of a ticking time bomb, with the payoff of each melodious wind-up being just as consistent and kinetic as the analogy implies. If you are looking to level up your sneaker-surveying game, Spiral XP might just be the wild patch upgrade you've been waiting for.
I didn't have much of a reference point for Anatolian rock before I encountered Altin Gün a few years back... now I'm not sure how I ever had a developed sense of music taste without it. A calmly rhythmic and serious-minded folk hybrid, it possesses a distinctly invigorating and distant allure, like the scent of perfume wafting in from an adjoining room, or the aftertaste of melted caramel trailing down the back of your tongue and throat as it mixes with your saliva. I'm glad that I'm somewhat familiar with the style now, as it enhances my appreciation of German ensemble Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek and their latest album Dost 2 all the more. Led by (you guessed it!) Derya Yildirim, they have an overall more patient and grounded approach to Anatolian retro revival, one that draws out the intimate potential of the tradition without surrendering its swaying, breezy tussle. Dost translates to English as "Friend," and it is difficult to avoid the impression that the imploring posture of the Turkish language vocal performances on "Gümüş" and "Odam Kireç Tutmuyor" aren't being sung to you directly with some personal regard. Elsewhere, tracks like "Mola" have as their focus the conversive, serpentine curvatures of Derya's composed saz playing, which works as a beautiful counterweight to the fully developed psychedelic funk of "Bal." Possibly the most evocative and intimate moments on Dost, though, are the hypnotizing cover of the poet Aşık Mahzuni Şerif's "Darıldım Darıldım," and the closer, where Derya's aunt Ayşe gives a solo performance over a studio loudspeaker, beckoning you to contemplation and communion with a higher sense of being. Where ever you are, you can always find the warmth of a friend in Derya Yıldırım & Grup Şimşek.
Every Moment of Every Day is the second LP from Pittsburgh emo band Short Fictions. As a mark of authenticity, and almost a right of passage for many an emo musician, their lead singer and guitarist, Sam Treber has a degree in English, which he is not using to write the next great American novel, and instead serves his muse piecemeal by penning collections of short punk songs with his band. I'm almost certain that this fact is the source of the band's name (although, I haven't bothered to ask or investigate this notion at all). It's amusing because I'm also at least 90% certain that the subject matter Sam is singing about is entirely autobiographical. A recent college grad singing songs about missing someone in another city with lines like, "I never thought at 23 I'd feel this bad," are a dead giveaway in that department. On that note, the songwriting hasn't changed that much in quality since their first LP (Fates Worse Than Death), but this newer album sees the band more comfortable playing faster and more aggressively (especially on the "The Great Unwashed," which is basically a hardcore song). And while it might be anathema to emo as a genre, the band sounds less depressed here, to boot. I get the impression that they've matured as people quite a bit since the last release, and that they're now just able to process their emotions in a way that lends itself to poppier, peppier performances. Not to say that they've solved all their problems and don't feel the bite of loneliness from time to time (what would it leave them to write about if they did!), but in general, Every Moment of Every Day sees the band appreciating life a little more than they had in the past. I'd be happy for them for that alone, but I'll take a powerfully good time as well if it's on offer.
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| Image by Ash Dye |
Had the opportunity to talk with a phenomenal Chicago-local singer and songwriter this week for the CHIRP Radio Artist Interview Series. Anna Holmquist of Ester has self-released a double single Red Rover / Change is Allowed, and we unpack those songs, as well as talk about the role of humor in their music and our mutual love of early Snow Patrol. You can listen to the full interview on CHIRP's site here, or below:
Trouble's Afoot is one of the many outlets of Queens-based musician Jordan Cooper. His LP Woke Up Dark was released in May of 2022, but it's been gestating for quite a while- longer than the band has existed, apparently. Parts of the album (the drums in particular) were recorded in 2009, close to a decade before the project's debut LP Looking For Parking (released in 2018), and the two albums draw from some of the same recordings sessions. This fact (and others, like the guitars having been recorded in a circular-shaped farmhouse, and the vocals having been captured while Jordan was suffering from a condition that caused his throat muscles to squeeze around his voice-box) give the impression that the Woke Up Dark is the product of accident as much as intention, opportunity as much as skill, and helps to qualify and contextualize the jerry-rigged bindings, anxious allure, and wishful conceptualization that holds it together. The angular and barbed bits and chips that comprise the album all feel like shards swept together from different shattered mirrors, and when you finally piece them all together, you'll be shockingly confronted with an image of yourself from different eras of your own life, somehow all fused together to reflect you, standing there, in the present. This "you," by the way, is the version of yourself listening to the record, discovering slivers of yourself shifting between the spaces of its tightly drawn chords and high-register harmonics. You, and the album, are both here, for worse and wear, and that's kind of the point. Bearing the bruises and warn edges of the long road and the many steps that it took to bring Woke Up Dark together helps to bring out the peculiar character of its songs, most of which are idiosyncratically allied with lean art punk of XTC enacted through the wistful, confessional style of the Eels. It's funny too. Funny in that undersold, wry, and irreverent manner that They Might Be Giants or Violent Femmes are lauded for, where the absurd subject matters explored (like driving one's car into a lake in a dream ["Woke Up Dark"], a father fighting with his kid over how unpopular they are at school ["The Greatest Dad In The World"], or celebrating one's own sadness and alienation ["Suck it Up"]) matched with an exaggerated and campy presentation beget a revolving carousel of unflappable existential amusements. Don't know what I mean? Well, give Woke Up Dark a spin and maybe you'll see the light.
EP is the first release by Manitobian musician Megumi Kimata under the name French Class. It has a charming and unruly quality typical of home-recorded, solo-electronic projects, but with an uncommon sense of structure that is almost masked by its intense (and intentional) adolescent aura. It's prickly, sweet-like-sourpatch-candy, and unwilling to relinquish the sense of imaginative possibility that the transition from pre-teen to post-pubescent tends to narrow. At the point at which EP dropped (Q3 of '19), Megumi didn't seem ready to give up her toys, which accounts for not only the pointy, polyurethane molding of the album's blunt and forward grooves but also its apparent weightlessness. Like time has been suspended for Megumi while she completes a magical quest. An adventure akin to soaring over a fairy kingdom, catching plumbs of marshmallowy smoke drifting up from villagers' cabins and molding them like wet clay into sweetly textured goodies for your ears. Her's is a process capable of constructing many timeless objects of fascination, from the bodacious beat-assemblage and sugar-dough roller "Robot Tune," to the electro-polka pogo and bulging balalaika bungee of "Clown City," as well as the ricocheting, Lego-cosmonaut soundscan "About Moon landing." As of last year, Megumi started working with a full band, making more formal-sounding R'nB and pop music, but you can still hear the imprint of her earlier playground antics on the disco-themed title track off the recent Hot Girl Summer EP, as well as the gabby and irreverent bounce of "Bon Bon Bon" from the same album. It's pretty clear that Megumi is going places with this project, and has progressed quite a bit in the last few years. Still, it's worth looking back to admire her past work, especially EP, as that is where it all started. Better jump in now if you want to take advantage of early enrollment, because French Class will only get more popular from here on out.
The cover of the Indianian screamo/skramz/weird emo project Calendar Year's EP A Life Cycle is too cute. I don't know that it is humanly possible to see that little Oreo-colored cat hiding in an old Pepsi cola box and not be curious about the music that it is acting as the mascot for. Unsurprisingly, the quizzical and sweet nature of that cover photo is infused throughout the record, chiefly worn by the cozy, warm, and domestic quality of the record's guitar tones. This is further reinforced by the nuzzling rub of the record's use of cotton-fiber caliber synths chords, which interact with the adjoining guitars, SFX, and playful percussion (both live and electronic) as a protective garb and insolation. A source of reassurance, wrapped tight around its precious frame to keep it from becoming overwhelmed by anxiety- kind of like a thunder vest you'd put on your dog for parties... if your dog was a shapeshifting alien and its psychological accessory could meld to its constantly mutating persona. Despite the record's hominess, it retains this fizzling, explosive spark, that is forever burning down until its subsequent combustion and reformation. This minor-atomic reshuffling surfaces in the record's many feedback experiments, forays into noisy electronics production, and in vocal excerpts from video games and anime, and various hip-hop artifacts, demonstrating the font of culture that its creator (Blake Mawhorter, also of Lights Strung Like Stars) is submerged in. Also, and most importantly, the record's bursting energy is portrayed through the doused and muted quality of the shrieking vocal performances. These vocals, much like those of your arms are my cocoon, earn the album its "screamo" bonafides, sounding like they are bubbling up from under the decaying peat at the bottom of a brimming rain barrel. The shy and obscure nature of A Life Cycle, as well as the way that it was unceremoniously released to Bandcamp, may give the impression that the album and its creator are attempting to hide from you. But if you are attuned to their intentions, you'll recognize that these furtive dodges are actually a not-so-secret invitation to come along and play.
It makes perfect sense for a dance-pop artist to eventually produce a space-themed album of some sort. Club lighting resembles stars and cosmic rays reflecting off the super-massive structures of the cosmos, only drawn in and wrapped around a crowd like the drapes of a baldachin, under which a fog of ecstasy can condense into an antigravity field, through which you can swim up and grasp the tails of passing comets. UK singer Rose Gray is practiced at capturing and bottling this intoxicating ether, but what's particularly delightful about her latest EP, Higher Than the Sun, is that even when she is punching through exosphere, she never renounces the physicality her sound is rooted in, nor the tactile desires of the people who receive it. Through out the album, Rose permits herself to become passionately entwined in heady and fleshed-out forms that have their own distinct scents, temperatures, and saturation points, coming alive in a moment of concentration with the potence of each presence in order to commune with them like a lover, like a fighter, and like a friend. The grooves on Higher spread through the extremities in a manner that is almost skeletal, teaching your body how to move and predicting the patterns of your feet before you've even acknowledged your own drive to dance. This powerful and persuasive mentorship is undoubtedly present on opener "Ecstasy," as well as the circular pressure sweep of the disco-divinity cascade "Prettier Than You" with funky blushing basslines and tugging beckon of moody vocal inflections. "Promise Me" has a touch of escapist glory to its plunging and breaching melodies that sheers upon a rosy shimmer like dolphins racing at dusk through a lapping veneer of open water, and "Sun Comes Up" is an easy unwind of a closer, where a soulful whisper of melodic tresses and a soothing massage of therapeutic house grooves relieve you of any tension your body retains after a full night on the dancefloor. Higher Than the Sun might not be exactly out of this world, but it most definitely contains more joy than one planet could possibly handle.
It's important for me to memorialize Vacation Vinny in some way as we near its 10-year anniversary. Released in 2014, it was the Grass is Green's last album, but it stands as one of the better examples of its era. Example of what you ask? It's hard to explain, but there was at one point a genuine counter-weight to the types of indie bands whose music was used in commercials and who received high marks from, now, bizarrely, dominant media publications (none of whom I will name here, because, frankly, I don't need to). The Boston band felt like they were, intentionally or not, a part of that thoroughly necessary corrective force- a weird, almost indescribable, confluence of post-punk, post-hardcore, and freaky hippy energy, that favored tons of feedback and a plug-in-n-play, casual garage rock ethos. The culmination of a hard underground approach and an ethereal blending of aesthetics that was sustained by fellow travelers like Krill, Gnarwhal, Two Inch Astronaut, and My Dad, and which found a home on the ever-exploratory Exploding in Sound. I listened to Vacation Vinny a lot when it first came out, not really realizing that the era that it came out of was either significant (at least to me), or that it might turn over at some point and dissipate. All I knew at the time was that I preferred what Grass Is Green was doing to anything that the "people in the know" were telling me I should be listening to. All the weird phases that opener "Sammy So-Sick" ripples through still astonish me- building up steam with a little Mid-West jangle and cooling down with a drift of mellow surf-psyche before steadily lashing out in increasingly soggy, murky, and discordant fits of intense relapse and nervous convalescence. "Disjoint" tags in as the follow-up, and wastes no time hurdling itself down the short corridor of the tracks run time like a man attempting to escape a straightjacket by propelling himself through the neck as if he were a gasping fish leaping through a porthole and back to the sea. Later "Scattering Ram" wriggles and protests as if it's avoiding an uncomfortable subject (like alimony payments or its parent's divorce) only to covertly counter with its own forceful rebuttals and accusations, in a hot flow of feedback and evasive but cogent grooves that resemble Pavement peeling out in the spirit of Drive Like Jehu. That heated exchange is then followed by the one-legged loping of "Spore," which proceeds through a series of languid swells and small bursts, with purposefully placed guitars and percussive splashes dispursing as if they were mushroom glands erupting in slow motion, staining the air with plumbs of sticky fragrances, deciduous hues, and earthy blots. There are still plenty of bands doing creative and exciting work, but few could qualify as being as willfully or colorfully obtuse as Grass is Green. Even after all these years, Vacation Vinny is a welcome escape from the ordinary.