Archives : all posts by Sean

The Legendary Jim Ruiz Group - "My Bloody Yugo". Well isn't this a funny thing. The best tagline I can come up with is "No Depression ska". Yes - it's a song with backbeat, trumpet, and a Yugo fixation. Jim Ruiz sings with a sort of wry Elvis Costello swing, and Stephanie Winter-Ruiz gives the chorus a wistful glaze. The clarinet accompaniment strips all pep from the horns, and ultimately the tune's bouncy beat - and "la la la" bits - are a comfortable incongruity: I don't I understand why such macabre lyrics would be played by a sedated Sublime, but I really don't mind. It's as if an indie country band wandered into studio, found a bunch of weird genre accoutrements (and session musicians!), and adapted their grim tune accordingly. And added a wispy chorus! And angels singing in the finale! The album has the unfortunate title of Oh Brother Where Art Thou? (and the Amazon reviews are full of folks who got the album by clueless soundtrack-seeking relatives). It comes to me via the fine Annette. [buy]

The Delgados - "Everybody Come Down". It's been a couple days, and I no longer think Universal Audio is one of the year's very very best. (The new Idaho took UA's spot on the list.) It's still good, however - a lateral move from Hate, full of unexpected melodies and big noisy choruses. "Everybody Come Down" opens with jangle guitar and everyman drums, a stroll from residential streets onto a bustling carcrash causeway. The Delgados' do chamber-pop differently than everyone else: their earliest records were pretty punk, and now - even when the production is huge, a swirl of synth and guitar and voices, - it never feels like the gloves are on. It may be good-natured and melodious, but there's always the danger of a bassline collapsing onto your head, the drum fuzz setting your speakers on fire. As the band tumbles smiling into the end of this tune, part of me can imagine them destroying their instruments, crushing them to smithereens amid a pile of petal-plucked flowers. "Everybody come down!" Emma Pollock sings, gathering an Oliver! army or grimy, earnest kids. [pre-order]

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my mean magpie has an absolutely wonderful Mountain Goats mp3, called "Korean Bird Paintings". It's sweet, lovestruck, and it has a banjo. (via the essential catbirdseat)

Red Lotus Radio is new to me, and might be to you; it's a great blog with an international, folky scope. Last week was Garmarna, one of my fave nordic groups; this week, "Persian classical music." I slather with anticipation. :)

My sincerest Canadian-Scottish thanks to Adrian for the help he gave me today installing MT-Trickle. You'll all be thanking him next week (wait and see!).

The Song Corporation - "The Bug Speaks". Check the squeak of guitar on this song, the dauntless whitewater flow of lyrics. It's a boat plowing headfirst into a cliff, a raincoat-clad bug at the stern, ranting into the clear day wind. I like the guitar that wanders like Miles Davis through the belowdecks - the quiet one, the one underneath the verses. Waves shove the hull, a girl's "oh-oh"s in the back, and then as things hit a crescendo the boat crumples into the rock-face, a welcome destruction. The best pop song to ever have been inspired by Hannah Arendt's "The Origins of Totalitarianism," this is democracy and its collapse - accompanied by a guitar solo. "You are not aloooone! Hit it!" Yes. From the Song Corporation's new 3-song EP.

Pure Morning - "Scum". Before Ade Blackburn and Hartley formed Clinic in 1997, their band was called Pure Morning. There was no clarinet, no surgical masks. And whereas Walking With Thee conjures up a sinister organ-grinder, a menacing grin, Two Inch Helium Buddah is more like expressionist sidewalk chalk, angry teens sketching greybrown frustration. It's a mess, really - mean boys playing Radiohead's "Just", droogs after a break-up, drunken grunge, stinging nettles under fireworks. But man, the jackhammer blossom of that electric guitar, the way the noise takes over those angry lyrics, the way it says it all so much better... Grafitti on a cloudcovered sky. [OOP, but findable]

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I've fallen quite in love with "Tomorrow on the Runway," a song by the Innocence Mission, which you can download here. Bryan tells me that their 1995 album, Glow, is even better than Befriended, but I haven't heard either. All I know is that at the middle and in the end there's guitar like silver pinpricks, and the rest of the time there's Karen Peris's lavender voice, like small flowers waving in the breeze.

And would you look at that - Monday already.

Bunun Tribe / David Darling - "lugu lugu kan-ibi". A beautiful dawn song, twenty-three Taiwanese singers accompanied by the subtle work of cellist David Darling. This isn't a strict field recording; Darling lived with and recorded the Bunun, but later composed and performed his cello parts in studio. The result is a beautifully round piece, a circle of rich sound. On a Monday morning it's difficult to be unaffected by the community of singers, those gathered voices, and the underlying lace of Darling's plum, tender strings. When the Bunun's song returns in the last minute, it's like that warm slipslipslip back into dream, when instead of waking you can stay in that soft, happy place. (I heard this on the CMN Comp that came with Songlines magazine, but Amazon sells the album, Mudanin Kata, here. I bet it's good.)

Wolf Parade - "Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts". Lead-off track from Wolf Parade's new EP, another self-recorded collection of songs to tide us over for the Sub Pop LP in early 2005 (?). The band's pulled their shit together, however: this song is clear as glass, sharp as basalt. It opens with the clipclop of sticks and hungry ghost voices, then a bleary buzz of synths and a roll-up into soulful rock. Spencer yowls and chants, leading the march over a decaying clay floor. Drums go from clatter to clomp and back, everything setting off a dustcloud haze that stings the eyes. The "la la la"s are hysterical, the delerium of a drunk man in the smoke. Watch out for the precipice. [buy soon]

Optimus Crime reports a possible "secret" Wolf Parade show at Montreal's Le Swimming (!?) on August 25th. Consider yourselves advised.
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Hot Sex Kitten is a fresh mp3blog that likes sad and angsty things (hooray!) - in many ways it's a kindred spirit to the missing (and missed) in action Listen Closer. The writing on Hot Sex Kitten is good, too, or at least the author shares my penchant for convoluted, wistful metaphor --

"This record [Karate's "'The State I'm In' aka 'Goode Buy from Cobbs Creek Park'"] makes me want to lay on my bed and stare out the window, and at the same time I?m tapping my toes and nodding my head. It?s as though the sun-dress girl wants to tell you about the special spot in her heart for Douglas Coupland; when she realizes she?s rambling she starts tickling you, and you both end up in hysterics as you wrestle around on the grass.

And before you know it you?re in love."

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i am in need of a something that will allow me to stack a bunch of MT posts and post them automatically once-a-day while i'm away from the computer. this script didn't work. (fwiw, i have scripting access, but can't commandline into the server.) can anyone point me to a solution?

Bright Eyes - "I'll Be Your Friend". I was at a bar tonight and on came the Counting Crows' "Mr Jones." It's a wonderful song, and not just because of the way it sends me spiralling into nostalgia. August and Everything After, like Coldplay's Parachutes, is a critically-maligned album that I'll go swinging for. Even if both bands have long been treadmilling, hashing out the same lukewarm stuff, those debuts are chockablock with great songs, full of feeling. The schtick wasn't yet schtick, and there's bravery in the now-familiar sound.

Bright Eyes isn't the same deal. His music mostly sucks. Conor Oberst has become a poster-boy for indulgent indie nonsense; he inspired invoked the term "sadcore," and then made it a joke. In general, I'm on-side with his critics. I really liked Letting Off the Happiness, with its almost absurdist dose of grief, but I haven't enjoyed anything since (except maybe the EP before Lifted). The wailing and gnashing is beyond tired. I don't care when he releases a new record, I don't even bother to read the newsflashes on Pitchfork. His angst isn't enough to make his music matter, and he's not impressing me when he rehearses the same formula.

And yet, well, you should never write someone off. "I'll Be Your Friend" is taken from Oberst's split EP with Neva Dinova. Lyrically there's something interesting going on - a begrudging friend, leaned upon, scornful and tired but maybe a little in love. Better still, the boozy trumpets slide all the way into a 1988 bender, a mocking Perfect Strangers sax solo. The protagonist sighs and shakes his head, but the song won't let him take it too seriously; we hear the absurdity of his self-inflicted situation. The protagonist keeps his upper lip stiff, asserts his dignity - "I'll be your friend but you just haven't made me yet" - but there's no escaping the oafish bassline and smirks of horn. It's a bad scene, but he chose to wander in, to drive up in his Chevette and guide this girl through the debauched, pathetic fray. You're the pansy, kid. So laugh - at yourself, at your high, sober and gullible horse. [buy]

French Kicks - "Only So Long". Cody has been a vocal advocate for the new French Kicks album, and the band has certainly done some quite extraordinary things. Gone is the garage-rock fixation of their 2002 release; instead, Trial of the Century is richer, warmer. Less of Velvet Underground, more of The Smiths. I don't care if they're pretty or rich or cool - this is a fine song, the ticktacktoe of drums nested against a hungry rumble of electric guitar. For all the lyrics' softness, that reassuring touch of piano, there's always a return to the guitar and its precipice. That is, until the end: "Never made up my mind / never liberated / feel you coming alive / and you turn around and / wait a little bit more / I'll parade around then." And the vocals stop. That's it - no happy ending, no embrace. But the rhodes is like a dose of soma, a creepy lethargy that saps the frustration away, puts it to sleep, applies a smiling mask. 'Forget,' it seems to say. 'Lie down.' [buy]

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A wonderful Dolly Parton track at Spoilt Victorian Child.

#644 has two fascinating, beautiful, strange tracks by Umka & Bronevichok, a russian acoustic guitar duo that are part Jobim, part Kings of Convenience. Light as a Soviet summertime, sweet as borscht. Recommended.

In a mere two weeks, I've heard four new albums that will likely break my top ten of the year: The Arcade Fire's Funeral (yes, like I said, more later); the Go! Team's Thunder Lightning Strike, Devendra Banhart's Nino Rojo, and now The Delgados' Universal Audio. Finally 2004 is shaping up.

Till Monday!

The Go! Team - "Bottle Rocket". A choice cut from The Go! Team's upcoming debut, Thunder Lightning Strike. This is a one-of-a-kind act, flashy fun and fresh, their bodacious spirit matched only by their musical panache. It's like Belle and Sebastian jamming with the Furious Five, recorders and melodica that bump like toy boats against sample-flush tunes and double-dutch raps. "Bottle Rocket" is an effervescent single that high-kicks to the sky, marching down the street with floating balloons and spinning batons. There's energy to spare, a generous joy, just the right traces of melancholy - it's a triumphant back-to-school return, dancing to your own song on the abandoned beach. One of the year's best!

Spoilt Victorian Child has some other tracks online, as does Keith. Thunder Lightning Strike will be released on September 13, one day before The Arcade Fire's Funeral hits the shelves. A good week.

Obray Ramsey - "Rain and Snow". Plucked banjo and Ramsey's puckered voice, this is bluegrass for all seasons. It snakes a narrow line between sadness and perfect contentedness, every regret washed away with a swig of resolve. Obray Ramsey makes this seem easy, words squeezed out over a dance of strings. But I wonder at it, try to imagine it in utero, before this whole and simple thing sprung out and onto record. It can't be done. I cannot believe that this was slowly composed, written verse by verse, chord by chord. No - it emerged fullgrown. It grew among berries. (Thanks, Annette!) [buy]

Does anyone know which issue of Q magazine mentions this blog? If you could leave the info in the comments, I'd appreciate it very much.

Yes indeedy, so glad to be back. Thank-you again for your welcomes and hellos; a welcome and hello, too, to any who have wandered over from the Morning News Round-Table. Gape as I go kinda crazy at MB (sorry, sir), yawn as I prattle on about joy and responsibility. One thing I forgot to do was to fully annotate my comments with links. Here, then, are those missing clickies:

Cheap Thrills, Montreal's finest record shop.

Bands that are great [with links to the most relevant blog entries]: Okkervil River [1 2], The Arcade Fire [1 2 3 4], Bishop Allen [1], Wolf Parade [1], Jim Bryson [1], Greg Macpherson [1 2], Les Mouches [1].

Moving on...

Devendra Banhart - "At the Hop". A sure stand-out from the upcoming Nino Rojo. The album comes out of the same sessions at Rejoicing in the Hands, and to my great surprise, it's better still. This year, Devendra's shown a remarkable depth, a diversity of songwriting that raises him far higher than the witchy Oh My Oh My and the bulk of his freakfolk peers. Like Joanna Newsom or to a lesser extent, Sufjan Stevens, he uses this new oldtimey music to say a bunch of different things - sometimes precious, sometimes fierce. On Rejoicing there was "Autumn's Child," with its elegiac piano chords, its reverent pulse. On Nino Rojo there's the coquette "We All Know," the goofy-serene animal song "Little Yellow Spider," and then the woozy lurch of "Electric Heart." He's not just a novelty act: his recordings have breadth, are made with care. Devendra is willing to nurse a song in its nest, till the wings and teeth grow in.

"At the Hop" skips along with Banhart's queer grin, the twisty mouth that's half smile and half frown. His acoustic guitar bounces along as part of a long caravan, a journey through fields, heads poking out and hoping to see the stars. "Wrap me in your marrow / stuff me in your bones / sing a mending moan / a song to bring me home." Gayness and hope, a reassuring background sigh, the jumble of voices... it slowly dissiates, thins out, till legs are dangling out and the air is cool. [pre-order]

Andy Iona - "Naughty Hula Eyes". This tune comes courtesy of the splendiferous Tuwa. It's light, fragrant and hawaiian: an evening song for slippywalking down a dock (don't fall into the water and cut your leg!). As the uke strums, as the lap steel sings, I'm as smitten as Andy - caught by that dancer's bedroom gaze. This isn't the sound of true love, it's the sound of a dreamy holiday night, shoulders loose, when you can't help that you're smiling at her (or him). There's simply something in the air, in the way your feet are stepping to the beat. buy

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Later this week, something from the excellent, one-of-a-kind album by the Go! Team.

So here we are then - one week, twenty needles and a whole lot of antibiotics later. Thank you all so very very much for the good vibes, kind words and well wishes - in the comments, by email, and elsewhere on the blogosphere (I'm looking at you, Keith). I can't tell you how my heart swelled when someone brought me a comment print-out last Wednesday, or when my acheing bones finally returned to the computer and I glanced at my email today. Your kindness and love is overwhelming; I'll do my best to return it if you ever need it. :)

Last Sunday I fell out of a canoe as I was getting into it. This is where I make excuses and try to defend my canoeing ability - it was round-bottomed! it was full of stuff! it was tied to the dock in a peculiar place! - but really what it comes down to is that there was an uh accident, I tumbled into the water, and as I scrambled to right the canoe and save my friend Lindsay from wet, the edge of the boat swung back and gashed me in the leg. It was a small but deep wound in the shin. We drove to the nearest hospital where I was x-rayed, tetanused and stitched up. The rest of the day was fine - I played Solar Quest and ate roast vegetables and experienced very little pain.

On Monday we drove back to Ottawa. And within a couple hours of being home, I fell into a fever. We drove to the hospital ("4 and a half hour wait, sir") but after hearing my symptoms was admitted immediately. What followed was an exhausting whirlwind day of swabs, injections, blood-pulls, an MRI, and at least five doctors. Until Wednesday, they feared that I was suffering from necrotizing fasciitis. Yes, uh, the "flesh-eating disease." And no, that's not a good way to start one's week.

But in the end my infection turned out to merely be a rare and frustratingly uppity breed of lake bacteria, easily squashed with the help of tons and tons of IV antibiotics. Fear of contagion, misdiagnosis or unexpected developments resulted in a seven day hospital stay: I got home this afternoon. Furthermore, I'm on this weird IV pump thing, which will be dosing me with antibiotics for another ten days.

Overall though, I'm totally fine. I've got a bunch of needle-pricks in my arms, I'm missing some hair where the nurses tore away tape, and my leg aches and lacks mobility; but frankly, those are petty worries. I have my health, my sanity; I'm alert, happy, and good-to-go. The hospital food wasn't much, but the Ontario health system treated me remarkably well. The nurses at the Ottawa Civic were all kind souls, and the doctors knew their shit. And better yet - twas all for free! Thankyou tax-payers! :)

Now then; what did I miss? The Beta Band broke up! Dizzee Rascal leaked! But what else? Let me know! Comment, email or dropload. Thank-you!

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Can - "Mighty Girl". If I'm going to burst back out of the ether, what better way to do it than with this trundling, bleating, yearning, unstoppable tune. I won't claim that I would have known it, if Aurelien hadn't sent it my way. But now I do, and it's been noodling around my brain for well over a month. This is an epic jam, a pressing blue flame, electric guitar and drums that wind and weave, cresting and dissolving, all in the service of that piano line - all so that the 7:30 return is rich as a band of silver. Listen to it go! Listen to it climb! It's Rocky coming over the hill, the kids and their wagons, a sun that sets and rises and sets again, it's me bursting out of the hospital, a white gown fluttering round my bare bum. [from a Peel Session]

The Trews - "Tired of Waiting". I watched a lot of TV in the hospital. Much more TV than usual, and I got more channels. Noteworthy among these was MuchMusic - the Canadian MTV, long absent from my own abode. Since I was a little worried about theft, I didn't have my iPod or CDs with me - MuchMusic was my only source of song. So I caught up on all the new pop ("Dip It Low"'s first five seconds are fantastic, and then I'm bored; dig the Jadakiss; like the first half of the K-Os single). I gotta say, though, I'm pretty disappointed with all the second-rate pop-punk on the Canadian charts. Billy Talent oughta sit down.

And yet all was redeemed with this song by Niagara's The Trews (#20). In a lot of ways, it's a run of the mill midtempo rock single: guitars poking at each other, an over-and-over chorus that rises into a rousing group chant. But for me the song rises into the sublime with Colin MacDonald's outstanding vocals. At first he sounds like a ruffled Ontario Michael Stipe, or maybe Adam Duritz with his belt loosened. But the way MacDonald plays with his vocals, approaching the silly chorus from different sides, twisting the lyrics round in his hands - it's wonderful. He pulls real golden soul out of those five words, stretches the yearning like taffy. It's almost disappointing when the crowd sidesteps on board, when the backup vocals rise up and cloudcover his sky. Sure, there's some majesty in those rolling white clouds, but I liked it when his voice was stabbing down in clear bands of yellow light, crying and asking and pushing on like Van Morrison on the Liffey. [buy]