Said the Gramophone - image by Daria Tessler

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by Sean

The Deadly Snakes - "I Can't Sleep At Night". I first heard the Snakes at a "rearing, frenzied, soulful" show as part of last year's bluesfest. And here they are on record with that same bat-wild energy - the stomping rhythm&blues riffs, the thudding drums, the rooting sax. Max ("Age Of") Danger is one of the band's two vocalists, here presenting a fantastically cracked croon, a persuasive-but-crazed shout. As one of their labels puts it, "Maybe they're the mongrel sons of 1960s Stax soul, Them era Van Morrison, The Wild Magnolia Mardi Gras Indian Band, and The Band backing Bob Dylan. But that?s just what I think. Ask the boys, and they probably think they?re the Stones." This song is red-eyed and raw, fuelled by an insomniac's madness. There's an exhilerating delirium in the chorus, as the band yells back and forth to each other: "Hey!"/"Hey!"/"Hey!!". Everyone spins and tumbles into an unconscious heap.

The Deadly Snakes - "Oh My Bride". Also from Ode to Joy, "Oh My Bride" is punched through with handclaps and even more group hollering. This time it's Andre Ethier on lead vox, crying out a moonshine-soaked blues. He's kicking himself in the pants, rolling his eyes, feverishly grabbing at pills. There's a gospel fervour, shaking arms, and an electric guitar's vigorous, commanding yell (BOOM BOOM BOOM go the drums). If the White Stripes recruited a gang of ne'er do wells, turned in guitar hooks for gnashing, ebullient raving.

Andre Ethier - "She Will Never Be Your Girl". A short clip from Ethier's solo album, released this year on Sonic Unyon. The record (which is burdened with a stupidly lengthy title), wanders away from the Deadly Snakes' garage soul and towards Dylan, Waits, and other drunk-but-clomping singers. "She Will Never Be Your Girl" is a bittersweeter number, Ethier's plain voice above a flimsy ukelele strum, piano notes like drops from a tap in an empty kitchen. The lyrics are fast coming, with fine rhymes and an accelerating, resigned sadness. "And even Jesus Christ himself / would be loosening his belt / and even Stalin in his tomb / would rise inside her womb. / But she's never been a girl." It's enough to break a drunkard's heart. (I mean it.)

Did I mention that they're from the deep South Toronto?

by Sean

I guess the Minus Story and The Diskettes aroused no feelings in people, whatsoever! :)

The Bees - "Chicken Payback". And now the Bees do something completely different. I've expressed my Bees love before, but here they are again, doing something new that's old. It's grabby squawking funk that wouldn't be out of place beside James Brown & the JBs, ca. 1970. Well, they're a lot more white, and Vectians, but the group's fetish for analog authenticism is rewarded here: nothing's smoothed out, everything's live, a ragged voice calling with electric guitar for some pink-elbowed payback. The organ oomphs; the guitars toodle, jive and sing; horns send out zings between cheeky manmade whoops. And lyrically everything's rather silly. From the group's new record, Free the Bees.

The Amalgamated Sons of Rest - "My Donal". The ASOR are Will Oldham (Palace), Jason Molina (Songs:Ohia) and Alistair Roberts (Appendix Out) - in short, sad indie.folk dukes. In 2002 they released a gorgeous little EP from which I slip you this track, originally by the Scottish folk revivalist Owen Hand. It's a whaling song, mournful guitar over the lulling pulse of an organ. The whole track feels like an impending disaster, the shadow of a stormcloud (or a plane?): the organ tremor broods, waits, continuing on even as ghosts' voices rise behind Oldham on the last verse. Lovely and haunting, both (and available for a measly $9.00 at galaxia).

Alex has written an eloquent and meditative piece on the (im)possibility of silence, and John Cage's 4'33". "Thanks to John Cage I now know an answer to the famous koan "What is the sound of one hand?". In the morning it would be the birds singing. In a stormy autumn night the wind blowing..."

Fred Durst's secret blog.

I've only just now seen Marcello's take on Kanye West ("I suspect that The College Dropout might well be the wisest and best of hip hop albums"). I like Marcello's writing a lot - not just because he's unabashedly verbose, nor because he seems so damn knowledgeable, but because he's not afraid to assign motives, to make connections, to listen deeper. He connects Kanye's dopey skits to Sufjan Stevens; "Last Call" to James Joyce. So it's with great interest that I absorbed his perspective on Kanye's anti-scholasticism. That is, Marcello doesn't see any.

[I]n the wrong hands ["Lil' Jimmy"] could sound like a grumbling Sun columnist moaning about sponging students who never attended The University Of Life. But there?s an underlying sadness which reminds us of the subsidiary message ? what kind of society is it where people with degrees end up homeless, and specifically what kind of society is it when black people with even one degree end up waiting at Cheesecake or slaving away on minimum wages at Gap?
Which is a sadness I hadn't heard before - I had heard only frustration and an antagonism towards education that really turned me off. So now I'm listening again.

I've moved back to Ottawa for the summer. My concert schedule, then, as of right now (let me know if there's something else I should catch:

Tomorrow - Frog Eyes and Destroyer
May 12 - P:ano
June 6 - Gomez
June 11 - Matt Haimovitz
June 11 - The Microphones (double-booked... uh-oh)
June 18 - Jonathan Richman (?)
July 9-18 - Bluesfest, if I go (Huur Huur Tu, Tragically Hip, Keb' Mo', Manitoba, Jim Bryson, Weakerthans)
July 31 -The Arcade Fire

by Sean

The Minus Story have come a long way. Cf. this Delusions of Adequacy review, where the writer finishes by saying "On more of a positive note, the artwork and layout of the CD were done in a very professional manner." Moebius Syndrome, the group's second record, was certainly a challenging work. Electric guitars stagger and fall into the drums, twined voices wail. Like the Frog Eyes drowning, Modest Mouse after twenty years stranded in Siberia. There's a lot to explore, strange notes to learn to understand, yet I couldn't help but hope they would pull things together a little for their next LP. And here we are in 2004 - The Captain is Dead, Let The Drum Corpse Dance has been released on Jagjaguwar, and while the band's "Wall of Crap" sound is still clearly present, the pieces slip more coherently together. An expressionistic mess that hints at (or even points to) meaning: it's only as confused as your own shakingblinking mind.

The Minus Story - "It All Ends". This fractured track from Moebius Syndrome shows the band stepping down their familiar trail - a conventional indie-rock guitar in the middle, gnarled engines in the ditches, sharp&ugly bushes to either side. While the guitars sound a bit like Pinback, you'd never confuse Jordan Geiger's whine for Rob Crow's chant. Someone's crying for help, berating the clouds, tearing and scratching at canvas. It's sour and gnashing, but skillfully so. (And when it comes to the Moebius Syndrome artwork, Delusions of Adequacy is absolutely right. One of my favourite album covers of all time [and you may recognize some cough sympathetic imagery...])

The Minus Story - "Gravity Pulls". Like the bulk of The Captain Is Dead..., this is much easier to listen to than the above track: it's neither alienating nor even unpleasant. Backwards spinning guitars weave into a xylophone-dingling pop song, lyrics both desolate and warm. It's like a reassembled mirror; a dilapidated disco ball. There are shades of Olivia Tremor Control in the bustle, or even, by the time things really hit their stride (cue the choir!), the Flaming Lips. A gloomyjubilant hang-your-hat single.

The Diskettes - "Girl with Sunglasses". The Diskettes are on a cross-Canada tour from most-of-the-time home Montreal to some-of-the-time home Victoria. Go see them. This is a clip from their lofi debut (the follow-up's on the way) - an orangesegment of sweet and near-perfect pop: boygirl harmonies, vinyl strings, road sounds in the background, a photosnap of love's highs. The Diskettes make it look so very easy; behind bedroom recordings and muffled laughs, we can forget the sheer genius of Dave's tumbling vocal melody at the chorus. Over Emily's soft held note, he speeds giddily by: "I really wanna go outside / just find a place so we can hide." Gosh!

Slatch/Chromewaves broke the news this morning, and I confirmed it with the label this afternoon - Montreal's grandest band, The Arcade Fire, has signed to Merge. A 7" in June and a new LP in September. Colour me deliriously excited.

A fond farewell to The Rub.

Many, many thanks to those who contacted me about a gmail account. You deserve to have bands named after you.

by Sean

two songs for a long night (or for your cheery morning, i suppose). thanks for stopping by.

Nick Drake - "Fly". An alternate version of "Fly," taken from one of Nick Drake's home recordings. It's a hopeful song, a song of lovely visions. Here, however, the Bryter Layter orchestration has been stripped away. and Nick's voice is more urgent, set too close to the mic. When he pleads ("Please!" he says), there's a desperation that's almost painful for me to hear. The music breaks me in half - one side goes winding out along sunlit paths, the other's left alone in the wood, cheeks stained with tears. Really, Nick seems closer to the former feeling than the latter, but listening, I'm not.

The Small Faces - "Ooh La La". One of the finest folk-pop songs ever recorded, a song of such bursting optimism, such reassuring candour. A song that's seen sunsets and the sunrises on the other side. A song for bruised hearts creaking open. Guitars jangle, piano trots, Stevie Marriott Ron Wood singing like your closest friend, rallying you (and rallying himself). For many of you this will be a familiar treasure, but for those who don't know it - listen, revel, live. As for me - this is a song I simply need.

Benjamen Walker prepared an excellent introduction to the mp3blog thing, which aired on NPR this weekend (scroll to the bottom). I said a few words, and you can also hear from Matthew Perpetua, among others. Many thanks, as well, to Douglas Wolk at the Village Voice, who mentioned StG in an article last week. With all this growing attention (there's been talk of Reuters and the NYT doing articles), I can't help but wonder when the Canadian media will begin to pick up on the story. Maybe once the election's been called they'll have more time to dedicate to the minutia of the blogosphere. :)

update: Matthew's post about his new email address reminds me - I'm still waiting for the chance to nab a gmail account. If anyone out there has got an invite that they'd be willing to pass my way, I'd be very, very grateful. Apparently my old blogger account isn't enough to earn me an invitation. Thanks!

by Sean

Kevin Coyne - "The World is Full of Fools". Courtesy of Dave comes this introduction to Kevin Coyne, an English songwriter whose reputation has floundered in the twenty years since he released the bulk of his music. This 1979 song most strongly recalls Van Morrison - a plaintive, roughshod voice over the straight strum of an acoustic guitar, a burbling organ. There's a lot of frustration in this melancholy, a lot of sublimated rage. While Tom Waits' curmudgeon persona shouts and snorts at the grey gristled mess around him, Coyne seems affected by it, terrified by it, made desperate by it. Fingers scrabbling at a heart.

Clive Holden - "De'ath at Neepawa". In 2001, Winnipeg's Clive Holden recorded an album of his poetry, with music by Christine Fellows and Jason Tait & John K Samson of The Weakerthans. An accompanying series of films was recently released. This is a beautiful, whitesky piece, contemplative as leaves. "I didn't expect to be moved by your gravestone," Holden says to the earth where Margaret Laurence lies. He talks of dark hair and a dark gaze ("from a 50 cent postcard"), of the unexpected pulse of feeling that can suddenly strike you. Samson's electric guitar stirs like a small breeze, lifting at the collar of your shirt.

Clap Clap writes much, and wisely, on Eamon's "Fuck It".

Listen Closer is a very fine new mp3blog that's started things with some brilliant posts. Beck's "Tropicalia" is one of my very favourites by Mr Hansen, and I had intended to profile both Harvey Danger and Joanna Newsom. He's beaten me to all three punches, so you should definitely go see (and listen). Welcome, Justin!

Never Came Home is a new and well-intentioned mp3 blog that doesn't know how to spell 'gramophone'.

by Sean

Shena Ringo - "Stem (daimyou asobi hen)". Absolutely breathtaking j-pop - as exciting as sound as it is enthralling as music. A tour de force, for real. It opens with a slow zoom in, a plummy bass pointing out blurred lights and staggering greysuited men. Shena begins with some of Britney's threatening sultriness before bounding up into the clouds with a poise and play that recall Leslie Feist. She's sexy and genuine, a lilac voice amidst the tune's marvellous baroque glitch production. The track is astounding - from the joy and push of Shena's delivery to the remarkable arrangement. It's some kind of chamber pop, sure, but the depth and variety of it blows my mind. This isn't just the typical alt.rock move ("let's throw in some strings!"): there's several different movements, entirely different aesthetics. The Nigel Godrich visit to the orchestra is soon overwhelmed by reassuring strokes of strings, then a cold dip into piano scales and jerky staccato marching. We stumble through drumrolls, a pumping ascent, and suddenly we're smack in the middle of crashbanging electric drums and bass. And the cellos/violins are still there, singing forward like wave after wave of marauding seabirds. This is the main theme from Shena Ringo's 2003 film, Tanpen Kinema Hyakuiro Megane - but the official single seems to be the considerably inferior, cheesed-out English-language version.

Vincent Gallo - "Laura". It's not raining tonight, but I feel like it should be. A thin, bleak drizzle. Since listening and listening to the Vincent Gallo/PJ Harvey/John Frusciante "Moon River", I've dug deeper into Gallo's musical work and am enjoying the hell out of When. Woebot was right when he commented that Gallo's fulfilling some of the promises that Badly Drawn Boy gave up on after his initial EPs. While there's much to say for the pop that Damon brought to this sort of shambling disintegration, Gallo's done him one better with his mastery of atmosphere in these slack, earnest indie folk songs; it's a loose and drear sound to drown your melancholy in. "Laura" is a lovely song. A strummed and almost meaningless guitar goes on unending under Gallo's plaintive call: "Laura, Laura, come back." A bassline drips, catches the light. The Velvet Underground on a night when it's raining. Thin, bleak drizzle.

Thanks for listening, and for your comments. See you Monday.

by Sean

Frog Eyes - "One In Six Children Will Flee In Boats [acoustic]". The original "One In Six Children" is my very favourite Frog Eyes track, and you can listen to it here, courtesy of Absolutely Kosher. Whereas the original's got a drunken and staggering allure - shiny, wet, jubilant - this acoustic version takes things to a calm, close place. Somewhere between Iron & Wine, Devendra Banhart and a Neutral Milk Hotel bootleg, there's a nobility in the way that Carey Mercer's voice goes small, in the way that the drums clatter, bang and knock in the rear. It doesn't feel drained of power, like a merely "mellower" take (as do a lot of acoustic interpretations) - it feels like a song with different things to say. When Mercer sings of "creaking," we can hear that sound more clearly in our minds; there's a new futility, a fresh slow sinking. Mesmerising. (From the band's fascinating new acoustic EP, Ego Scriptor. Read more Frog Eyes/Destroyer blogging at catbirdseat.)

Broken Spindles - "Fall In And Down On". Dark electro with a vicious dance beat and a streak of black-silver makeup. Kind of like Nine Inch Nails doing garage... there's a squelching bass beat and Petersen's serious/energetic goth voice, but then stabs of dissonant strings, a musical puppet jerk that recalls David Axelrod's "Suburban Hell" remix of "Rabbit in Your Headlights." This is the sort of dance music that plays at raves in episodes of Inspector Morse, but it's very good: what it lacks in outright fun it more than makes up for with fierce and spastic crests. (Broken Spindles has moved from Tigerstyle to Saddle Creek, of all places. But then I read that Joel Petersen plays bass in The Faint, and it all fell into place.) Offa the upcoming Fulfilled/Complete.

Jay-Z's new video, for "99 Problems," is both an entertaining story (love the biker dude Rick Rubin [thanks tim]) and a fantastic array of sparse, black&white imagery. By Mark Romanek, who did the excellent piece for Johnny Cash's "Hurt," really outdid himself here: gravitas mingles with play, bragadocchio with vulnerability [ie, it's Jay-Z]. Also, Hov gets shot at the end. [via aaron]

Sadly, the new Beastie Boys single (which I think is available on iTunes) is not very good.

There's lots more in the archives:
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