Archives : all posts by Sean

Music for Robots deals with a "hump day" by showcasing the dancey stuff (albeit with classic Belle & Sebastian); me, I turn to comfort music. Warm, fuzzy, close in your ear.

The Hotel Alexis - "OK". Brian very, very kindly introduced me to this record, The Shining Example is Lying On the Floor. It's a really beautiful piece of work, hazy afterflow and pedal steel sighs. Sidney Alexis is a member of Torrez, but where that band cherishes shadow, this record is about the candlelight that reveals faces. "The Season For Working" has got a hazy, almost drunken stumble - twang and a sing-song that reminds me of Yo La Tengo. "It's Obvious Now" nods to Neil Young, suns rising and falling behind the hills. But "OK" is my favourite - the chant of organ and drifting noise, the slow introduction of guitar. Alexis knows that his voice isn't anything special, but he uses as if it could be, as if he can say what he's saying better than anyone else. "Okay," he sings, loosely. "Ok." Then the dirge opens up even further, purples and pinks bleeding into the watercolour, the memory of a trumpet. Smoke, almost invisible on an empty street. [buy]

Iron and Wine - "He Lays in the Reins [live]". Recently, I've cooled a lot too Iron & Wine. The new record was ultimately a big disappointment: too clean, too rich. More than anything, though, it's the similarity of Sam Beam's songs that bothers me. A lot of his tracks are banal - rural images and yup his soft voice, - but banality is forgivable if it's one-of-a-kind. As it becomes clear, however, that Beam can crank these sort of songs out, it's harder to give him the benefit of the doubt. And while I still hold "Upward Over the Mountain" close to my heart, much of the rest has withered under the glare of longterm listening.

But Eric sent me this live recording of an unreleased tune, a song called "He Lays in the Reins." And even though it's that familiar old sound, this is one of those performances that justifies Beam's existence. There's something greater in his voice's ache, in the conversation of guitar and lap steel. It's like watching Chaplin walk, the weary shuffle that hides a dance, an individual spirit. The song's not just pretty, or sad - it's calling out to something, reaching, straining. The lyrics keep asking - "one more," "one more," - and while there's no exclamation mark I imagine the desperation behind that prayer, the desperation of someone who's tired of this world's absurdity, of empty pretty things.

(oh, and eric tells me that "the only version [of this song] that most people can locate is REALLY bad. And I mean, almost bad enough that you can't hear the vocals." so even if you know the tune it might be worth grabbing in case you don't know this recording.)

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Mae-Shi will be releasing their first record on Kill Rock Stars/5rc, later this month. In the meantime, listen to their Supper 2004 Mix CD (95meg zipped mp3s). It's a giddy, electic, fantastic mashup, like Strictly Kev's 20th Century bootleg, but an even more furious mix of Magnetic Fields-to-Jay-Z-to-AC/DC. Mesmerizing - and a little overwhelming.

Mt Eerie - "Wooly Mammoth's Absence". The opening track from Phil Elvrum's new (very limited) EP, Seven New Songs.

Phil came through Ottawa earlier this summer. He played in a nursery in the basement of a community centre. We sat on wrestling mats. And holding an electric guitar he sang simply, beautifully. The music flowed out of him like water from a cup. He made it look so easy. He sang songs about whale-hunting and being "up his mother's ass". He sang small things and wise things. He wasn't neither melancholy nor glad - he simply sounded like he was trying hard to be true.

My favourite Microphones record is Mt. Eerie, an album that opened before me like a cloud suddenly shaking out rain. But while that's perhaps Elvrum's most indulgent LP*, it doesn't carry his most indulgent songs. (Look to the heavy-handed production that peppers The Glow, Pt. 2.) But neither of these things mark the clean, shining beauty of "Wooly Mammoth's Absence." Instead, the production is almost invisible; you don't think of the time that's been invested in every sound, in every strum. It's like that piece of soft grey glass on the beach, the one you hold in your hand without a thought for the things that shaped it.

Phil sings, of course. There are other blending voices and mirrorpooling guitars. Drums hide deep in the song's chest, bursting out only at its close. As placid as the sound is, however, the track's spirit is live, wakeful. It's got that electric current that runs through all of Elvrum's best work - that pure, attentive kindness. Under the pretty, glimmering song is an unwavering faith in the universe's beneficence. [sold out]

Harry Nilsson - "Save the Last Dance For Me (Demo)". This mostly-unplugged version of "Save the Last Dance For Me" is taken from the deluxe release of Pussy Cats, Nilsson's maligned bender-weekend album with John Lennon. And yet it's wonderful. As the organ pulses, Nilsson sings slowly, confessingly, like a man who is baring his heart. There are places where his voice almost rasps, but it's a beautiful strain - a moment of tension, rough croon against golden Rhodes. The absence of drums means that the song never descends into prom schmaltz - it's always just a little dead, a little sad. It's this reluctance, this lethargy that Nilsson needs to push against; he insists, he calls, he begs. He needs to sing this as truly as he can, or else that's it, c'est tout, the fog will roll in and she'll be gone forever. A dreamer's blues. (Thanks, Mike.) [buy]

* When indulgence works, of course, it's single-minded genius.

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Never Came Home continues to do great things, with an especially fantastic track by Yashudi Ide.

As you'll all doubtless have seen, mp3blogs.org is a nifty mp3blog aggregator. I find it's useful for glancing at after I've visited my regular mp3blog stops, to check for interesting things by people who aren't (yet) on my list, but should be.

Jeff is back with looking askance from '93, a new mp3blog that's getting started with a fine track by No Name No Fame, and, um, KLF.

Born Heller - "I Want To". Back in the spring, my friend Monica met half of Born Heller - Jason Ajemian - at a show with Julie Doiron in Montreal. She sent me Born Heller's "I Am A Guest In Here," which I quite liked, but I wasn't really compelled to seek them out. This past week, however, the record found its way into my hands, and my gosh - it's really something special. Unlike the Devendra Banharts and Espers with which it is compared, Ajemian and Josephine Foster have created something that owes more to Mark Hollis (Talk Talk) and 20th century classical composers than it does to Neutral Milk Hotel. The instrumentation is skeletal, a kind of irregular recitative - on "I Want To" we hear harp, eerie oboe, the occasional thump of a drum. Foster's voice is beautiful, high as a bird's nest. In the gaps of instrumental sound it is apt to rustle free, duck, and then soar. Listening - especially when you're bad with lyrics, as I am, - it's hard to figure out whether the songs are sad or quietly hopeful. Is this an ache forward or an ache back? All I know is that when those oboes sigh, I want them all around me, buoying me somewhere new and green. [buy]

Old 97's - "Won't Be Home". Cody sent me this song, from the band's forthcoming Drag It Up. They've been making music for more than ten years, but in the opening lines of this rollicking tune, Rhett Miller sounds as young as Bright Eyes; Jeff Tweedy without the Ginsberg. "Won't Be Home" has a fantastic combination of urgency and regret, Miller all brokenhearted while the drums tap-ta-tap. Lesser bands would be tempted to slow it all down, but here they just push it faster, background oohs and jingle bells. It's an unstoppable forward motion, a car that's come back to life and cannot - will not - stop. As Cody wrote to me, it is country music for "that next moment after ... [when] you have to kind of steel yourself, like it or not ... [when] you try to find something good on the radio and fix your eyes on the road." It's a feeling that you have to lean into, a sound that demands you give it a chance. It yearns and hopes and drives drives drives... Fantastic. [buy]

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David kindly passed on some code from ned, which I've now implemented. It should act as a roadblock for people who have been using wget to strip mp3s from the page. If people want to listen to the songs I post here, I'd really rather they stopped by and glanced at the writing. Please let me know if the change has caused problems with anyone's normal use.

Caley cited The Mountain Goats' "Dance Music" as one of the finest songs of the year so far, and thanks to Teaching The Indie Kids To Dance Again, I managed to nab it (and for a limited time, you can too!). While there's no studio version to be found, it truly is an awesome track - wistful and jubilant, and (next to "International Small Arms Trader Blues," "The Best Ever Death Metal Band In Denton," and "Family Happiness") certainly one of the Mountain Goats' best. Eppy's written a wonderful piece about it over at clap clap, and as usual, it's worth far more of your time than anything I could write.

The TypoGenerator is very cool. [via mefi]

Augie March - "Addle Brains". This track comes to us via one of Said the Gramophone's fine, intrepid Australian correspondents, Tim. Augie March are a fivepiece from Melbourne, and this is a song which is careful and glowing - Glenn Richards sings like a man who knows what he means, who means what he sings. A piano leans back and stretches, a bass guitar counts the clouds, and David Williams' drums rattle from inside cabinets, on top of kitchen tables. While Richards lulls us, we're pulled slowly into the tragedy - it's everyday narcolepsy, the city's apathetic lullaby.

Addle Brains mixes his powders with his fateful blues,
and the wide-eyed bubs of the Parliament couldn't give a hoot, or even two.
All it takes, it takes, is a kind look and a word, a word,
Some pretty eyes and skin. From your fine family you were given to win,
and spill it over into the basin of common sin,
just a drop, a drop of the stuff that makes us kin.

Alizée - "Moi Lolita". And for those of you who prefer a catchy tune to soggy sincerity, kyree55 sent on this dazzling bit of dancepop, a European hit in 2002 that was recorded by a 15-year-old Alizée. It's a slick bolt of french pop vocals, lush stretches of Ace of Base synths and Jamelia strings, a chorus that's neat as a mint stick of gum (the piano's coming! it's coming! ok phew). As soon as I heard the bassline, I recognized it from another song - but couldn't identify the original. For a couple of days I was going completely crazy, downloading every late-90s pop single I could think of, desperately seeking that sounds-like call-back. And then I caved, collapsed, and literally asked Metafilter for help. In 121 minutes, the answer was mine: White Town's (excellent) "Your Woman" (of course!). And while they're not identical, the resemblance is enough that I've hopefully saved you all some trouble.

When I hear this song I want to do strange newfangled disco in a portuguese warehouse, with rainbow flashing lights and rainbow bubbles and - why not? - ten-foot-high rainbow wedding cakes. [buy]

After two weeks gone, I Love Music has returned. rejoiceth!

King Creosote - "Lavender Moon". Badger Minor was the first one to share this song. I hate to do repeats, but tonight is a night when this song is needed. A squeezebox gives out low sighs, strange twittering in the rear. All around you, voices - tender, sad, lit by memory. At times, the song fills to something approaching bliss, but then we inhale - "But now you've left and gone." And there's nothing there; shapes in the air, fragments and figments, dream. And the song ends - just. like. that. [buy]

The Arcade Fire - "Accidents". I apologize to Win for pulling this old, worn song from the wardrobe. And I apologize to those of you who are tired of me writing about the Arcade Fire. But I really, really needed this song tonight, and I feel like there are probably others who need it too. It was recorded in the summer of 2000. And while the band's new material is phenomenal, there are a handful of ancient old antique songs that are overwhelming, magnificent, important. "Accidents" is one. "Milk & Honey" is another (and no recordings of it seem to exist). Jordan would cite "In the Attic." Dan would say "Alligator Mine." But - tonight, it's "Accidents" I needed. And here it is.

This is the band stripped to guitar and (later) drums, a lullabye that stumbles into a minor earthquake and then back. Win Butler sings like a man cupping images in his hands. It's the most mundane little apocalypse: movie-theatre swoon; ambulance swerve; chandelier crash. "I wait for the punch-line / but it never comes." People are tumbling to the ground, hearts flying out of their chests - bouncing, bruising, and maybe (we'll hope) still beating. Two people causing "accidents," their love a disaster, dreadful and miraculous and impossible to understand.

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Ecclectric City is a new mp3blog by Suhrid, the fool-prince of Montreal's indie scene. Currently showcasing US Maple, An Albatross, Hair Police, and his former band, Da (late great) Bloody Gashes. He's got photos, lunatic enthusiasm, and a frenetic style that reminds me a bit of john.

As anticipated, Wolf Parade have signed to SubPop.

Have a very merry weekend.

Everything Is Fine - "1000 Seconds". Everything Is Fine looks like a pretty hilarious fellow. But that doesn't matter because his music is beautiful. Alan passed me "1000 Seconds," and there are many more mp3s here. The song is low bass notes and the resonant touch of hands to electric strings. That, and Marc Manning's voice - high, certain, forlorn. It is very, very sad, this song. Manning carries us, but what truly lifts "1000 Songs" above the rabble of weepy singer-songwriters is the squall of feedback that slowly grows, a fierce grey ache that rises and overwhelms - a mouth that opens wider and wider, sound without words. The yawning maw of death, or perhaps the terrifying struggle of truly living. [buy]

Warsawpack - "Year of the Car Crash". Warsawpack, it seems, are defunct. Which is a pity. Over the course of two very similar records, they played snarling, musical and cohesive funk rock - gloomy guitars, sharp horns, the slick knife of DJ Aaron Sakala. Recalling a wordier Zach De La Rocha, Lee Raback raps with deftness and fury: he rages singlemindedly against big business, fat cats, and Republican presidents. Although the records can sometimes be a little much, "Year of the Car Crash" is short and cutting, a blazing rant against SUVs and gasoline, whispery scratching amidst guitar atmospherics. [buy]

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As you can see, I've updated my blog-roll. While places like The Tofu Hut have a terrific, encyclopedic list of mp3blogs, the links on this page are to the sites that I most eagerly recommend - the sites that I visit daily. Anything that's on the right is totally fantastic - and I'm sure that there are many others worthy of attention that either I haven't yet discovered, or that haven't yet secured my interest. If I'm overlooking something wonderful, please do let me know.

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I was just reading about the Conet Project at Stereogum - strange garbled radio broadcasts, spy messages or the illuminati or something else. As Aquarius Records says,

"The Conet Project is possibly the most incredible, and weirdest, item of sound art/documentation that we've EVER [sold]... Mesmerizing, fascinating, unique, massive, scary, but sometimes even soothing."

A wonderful thing: Maciej's description of The Velvet Underground. (You may have to scroll down to find it.)

Listen to Devendra Banhart's psychfolk comp, Golden Apples of the Sun (featuring Joanna Newsom, Little Wings, and more), here. [via mefi]

If you're on a mac, Camino 0.8 is out, and it's great.