Raw From the Saw: Reviews
Bloc Party
Silent Alarm
(Vice, 2005)
Woo woo! All aboard the hype train!
Bloc Party’s been getting a lot press lately, whether it be from NME overseas, from Pitchfork Media or from the revered publications Alternative (ha) Press, Teen Vogue (what?), and Rolling Stone. But unlike other bands who’ve gotten such high praise in recent years (The Killers, I’m looking at you), Bloc Party is actually good, releasing a string of solid, catchy-as-hell singles and now, their first full-length, Silent Alarm.
And, most importantly, not all of the members of the band are white. This doesn’t affect their sound or music or anything, but you know, diversity.
From what the Internet tells me, dance punk is so 2003. But, for those of you who don’t care what the Internet tells you and still like listening to bands with an obvious Gang of Four-influence, Silent Alarm is definitely for you. The album is probably the catchiest of the year thus far and, refreshingly, vocalist/guitarist Kele Okereke has decided not to pretend he’s American when he sings, like so many British bands of the past and present have to less than stellar results (see Zeppelin, Led).
On the whole, Silent Alarm adds up to a great rock album, and is going to be the soundtrack to everyone’s summer. The upside to their inevitable success is that a great band will be able to eat, and very well. The downside is that I’ll probably never be able to see them in a small venue at a reasonable price after May. But that’s just the selfish, elitist douchebag in me talking. And believe me, there’s a whole lot of that.
—Adam Trabka
Yo La Tengo
Prisoners of Love
(Matador, 2005)
There are few bands more deserving of a greatest hits album than Yo La Tengo. Despite escaping the mainstream and never having any “hits,” YLT has recorded enough catchy songs to rival any of the greatest musical acts in rock. Most bands of today have trouble writing just one song that would be worth remembering in five years. With Prisoners of Love, YLT needs two discs just to cover all of their notable material. Even with that, there are still easily a dozen songs unjustly left out.
Prisoners of Love does a pretty good job of covering the many moods and styles of Yo La Tengo. From the simple pop of “Stockholm Syndrome” to the richness and complexity of “Blue Line Swinger,” from the quiet beauty of “Our Way to Fall” to the noisy energy of “Sugarcube” and from the serious ballad “Tears Are in Your Eyes” to a jokey cover of Sun Ra’s “Nuclear War,” this CD shows the range of this versatile band.
And, while there is no good reason for anyone to buy this as opposed to purchasing the individual albums of Yo La Tengo, there is a certain appealing quality to the set. Listening to “I Heard You Looking,” “You Can Have It All” and “Did I Tell You,” arguably three of the greatest songs of the last fifteen years, in sequential order on a CD is a pleasure almost beyond description.
The third disc of rare and unreleased songs is a bit lacking when compared to the band’s other material. One song in particular, though, an acoustic version of Electr-o-Pura’s “Tom Courtenay” (which can be found on the greatest hits disc), is amazing. It alone is worth the price of the entire three-disc set.
—Richard Porten
Of Montreal
Sunlandic Twins
(Polyvinyl Records, 2005)
This is the perfect CD to sip a martini to while wearing your favorite tuxedo. With The Sunlandic Twins, Of Montreal brings the electro-pop, and how! Their newest disc puts an electronic spin on their previously psychedelia-filled sound. Gone is the 60s pop ambiance of Satanic Panic in the Attic, their stand-out album of last year. This time around, Kevin Barnes brings his two best friends—the synth and the laptop—to the forefront. The result is some of the band’s catchiest music yet.
While the infectious hooks and danceable beats are certainly praiseworthy, what drives this album is the precision and complexity of the arrangements. The standout song of the record, “So Begins Our Alabee,” is characteristic of the album’s carefully planned arrangements. Starting with a cavalcade of vocal harmonies, the song launches into a backbeat-driven breakdown, taking its sweet time before getting to the melody. The methodical care paid to the most minute details makes this album perfect for repeat listening and headphone sessions.
Winter imagery permeates the lyrics of the album, creating a kind of uber-hip mood that simply will not let the lyrics leave your head. This album is danceable, sure, but you’ll find yourself doing more head gyrations than full out bumping and grinding.
Gone are the hints of influence of the Animals and the Monkees from Satanic Panic in the Attic. This time Of Montreal brings it like David Bowie; tight songwriting, perfect instrumentation, and poetic, affecting lyrics make this album the most clean cut of the Of Montreal catalogue. A few hiccups in the brief instrumental pieces can be excused for the atmosphere this album creates. Sit back and let Of Montreal take you across the wintry landscape of frozen Europe whilst you relax in the relative comfort of your air- conditioned room.
—Andrew Frisicano
Beck
Guero
(Geffen Records, 2005)
Everyone needs to stop thinking Beck is going to make another Odelay. His last three albums have made one thing clear: Beck doesn’t do the same thing twice. His work is like the Jefferson Airplane to Starship transition; they’re only loosely related. But unlike Jefferson Airplane/Starship, Beck doesn’t get progressively worse with each new release. His latest continues his tradition of experimenting with new styles. If any CD were to be labeled the “lounge/make-out Beck album,” it would be Guero.
Guero isn’t really a dance party album, but you deserve to be smacked if it doesn’t make you move at least a little bit. It makes you feel like you should be causally bouncing in place holding a drink with a swizzle stick. And the glass kind, not the cheap plastic ones. Beck’s far too classy for plastic.
One thing most Beck songs do is make the listener think, “What the hell is he talking about?” I think he put his Becktionary away when writing Guero. I had time to try to decipher the subtext, because the actual words are fairly simple. The reoccurring themes of death, emptiness, and hammers are interesting, but their delivery lacks a certain “Beckness.” There is no hepatitis contact lens, vomiting whores, or young JCPenney employees. The lyrics are the thing keeping Guero in the make out/lounge category, because while it is really good, it’s not quite the “I need new underwear” level of good.
—Kiley Edgley
Venetian Snares
Rossz Csillag Alatt Született
(Planet-Mu, 2005)
Aaron Funk, a.k.a. Venetian Snares, is all about breaking down barriers. He eats jungle and shits out gabba. He’s mastered breakcore, all the while laughing at punk and ragga. The scariest thing about this album is that he’s finally outdone himself: Classical breakcore. Now bear with me. The latest Snares release (the twelfth, but who’s counting?) is an ambitious combination of beautifully delicate classical string and horn arrangements combined with explosive, bombastic breakcore.
Rossz begins with a clash between emotional strings and cold, calculated breakbeats. After briefly dabbling together with a Billie Holiday-esque vocal in “Öngyilkos Vasárnap,” he thoroughly interweaves styles in the epic “Hajnal.” In almost eight minutes, Funk treats us with classical violins that soon morph into a jazz piano, then like the pigeons that supposedly inspired this album, “Hajnal” takes flight when Funk’s trademark-crazed breakbeats fill the void.
From a production standpoint, this method may wear thin after a while, as many tracks lack the complex layers of noise that those familiar to the Venetian Snares sound have become accustomed to. Musically, it is undeniably Funk’s finest work yet.He plays the trumpet and violin alongside his breakbeat noodling. He opts to stay in minor key, displaying an Eastern European influence that he is rumored to have acquired while on tour in Hungary.
What boldly stands out on this release is the overflowing emotion Funk has successfully injected into an emotionless genre. “Kétsarkú Mozgalom,” for instance, brings forth a depressing vocal discussing the inability to feel happiness, while strings swell and struggle against being swallowed up by furious percussion. Again, Funk has brought us the opposite of the expected and though we may have to wait a while for a Snares release as sincere as this one, he could easily call it quits now and brag about having composed a breakcore masterpiece.
—Jeremiah Turits
Various Artists
The Triplets of Belleville
(Higher Octave, 2004)
Though Sylvain Chomet was the genius behind the visual aspects of The Triplets of Belleville, just as much praise and credit is due to Benoît Charest, composer and musical director of the film. Nominated for two Oscars, Triplets tells the tale of a Tour de France cyclist who is abducted by the mafia and brought to America. His grandmother crosses the sea to rescue him and is aided by three ancient cabaret singers—the Triplets of Belleville. The three women continue to perform, creating instruments out of mundane objects, such as vacuum cleaners, refrigerator shelves and newspapers.
The range of music created by such appliances is amazing; who would’ve thought that a vacuum cleaner, a newspaper and a fridge could create a silky, haunting sound one minute then an upbeat one the next? Who would’ve thought music could be made by such items? While various household products are featured on the Triplets soundtrack, they are not the only instruments; guitar, piano, and clarinet are a few of the more conventional music-makers heard.
The musical styles range over various contemporary genres. There is the swift, jazzy “Belleville Rendez-Vous,” the slow and rainy “Attila Marcel,” the Beach Boys-esque “Pa Pa Pa Palavas,” and the ragtag improved “Under the Bridge,” among others. The different musical styles are as eclectic as the characters in The Triplets of Belleville; each character has his own unique theme, and they blend together to make the perfect album.
—Lindsey Moore
Contramano
Contramano
(El Cacho Records, 2005)
The Argentinean expatriates Contramano show with their debut album precisely why their name means “against the flow.” Blending punk energy, indie sensibilities, and a lead singer who is trained in the classical cello creates a record that truly stands out.
Contramano owes almost all of its spirit and energy to Pablo Cubarle, whose lyrics, voice and cello imbue Contramano with their charm. Cubarle displays impressive versatility with the cello, which he uses traditionally in some songs and more like a guitar in others. All the while, his voice wavers from depressed drawls (“A Mess”) to romantic croon (“5D”) to energetic squeal (“Pretending”).
While Cubarle provides the front of the songs, the bass and drum work turn the songs into highly contagious and even danceable tracks. The album is populated by tracks that vary from irreverent love songs to more politically-conscious tracks, with the music itself changing to accommodate the spirit of the particular song.
The album begins with the cello playing along to a metronome as Cubarle moans “I don’t fit anywhere,” a slow-moving but enticing intro that builds into a frenzied beat. From there the album progresses from strength to strength, the comedic lovesick tone of “Checking U,” the sadness and intensity of “Sharing,” and the silly almost bounciness of “Disposable Song.” All of this comes to a fitting conclusion with the classical cello sound of “I Hope You Exist.”
Contramano’s self-titled record is likely to fly under many radars, a true shame as it is a highly accessible and enjoyable record that refuses to go with the flow.
—Zach Loeb
Cex
Know Doubt
(Record Label, 2005)
Rjyan Kidwell is a weird dude. He’s never stuck with one genre for more than two albums and will often appear at shows wearing pajamas and a chicken bone. Quite simply, you can’t have expectations when dealing with Cex; it’s just not going to work.
Cex’s latest release, Know Doubt, is different from anything else released under the Cex name. Cex is no longer a pseudonym for Kidwell, but now a band consisting of Kidwell, his wife Roby Newton and Cale Parks of Aloha and Joan of Arc.
The press kit describes the new sound as an “IDM jam band.” But unlike jam bands, Cex doesn’t fucking suck. And you don’t need to be high to “let the music take control, man,” either.
That’s not to say I have any clue how the hell to classify the latest incarnation of Cex. There’s more of a focus on percussive sounds on this record than any of the previous Cex records. It sounds more organic and real than the glitchy screeches and howls that served as the backdrop (or the whole in the early days) to previous releases.
Even within the record there are stark differences from song to song. “State Secretly” sounds like something out of “Stomp” and features overlapping vocal chants to create a hypnotic track. The next track, “Contains It,” starts off with what sounds like a run-of- the-mill IDM track and then turns into a blaring mess that starts off like an over-energized Xiu Xiu of all things and ends sounding completely mellowed out and like a different song entirely.
All told, there’s likely no way in hell Know Doubt will create new Cex fans, but for anyone familiar with the progression of Kidwell’s music over the years, it can’t be missed.
—Adam Trabka
The Decemberists
Picaresque
(Kill Rock Stars, 2005)
Every year in elementary school we’d watch the movie Hans Christian Andersen in music class. It was about this minstrel who frolics from town to town singing songs to children.
He gets smacked around by all the parents in the town for polluting their children’s minds with happiness and stuff (parents are always out to fuck things up). But he keeps playing anyway, prancing around with his little mandolin or balalaika or whatever. I don’t remember how it ends, but it doesn’t really matter.
My point is, whenever I listen to The Decemberists I am immediately brought back to my childhood… and I had a pretty sweet childhood. In my head, I see Colin Meloy gamboling around the town with a little mandolin singing to all the children while the rest of the band skips and harmonizes behind him. And I mean that in the most dignified way possible. The Decemberists exemplify what it is to be musicians: theatricality and talent.
With Picaresque, The Decemberists have taken their music to a completely different level—every song is epic, every chorus is melodious, and every word is thesaurus-tempered to perfection. Meloy epitomizes what it is to be a storyteller, covering everything from lost loves to sailors to barrow boys to infant queens.
Picaresque marks the point where The Decemberists have truly embraced their theatrical potential. Just three of the album’s eleven songs clock in under four minutes, yet there are few, if any, dry spots.
The album comes to an accordion-laden climax with “The Mariner’s Revenge Song”—a nearly nine-minute story about a sailor avenging his mother’s death. On Her Majesty, Meloy proclaimed, “I was meant for the stage.” Picaresque proves that beyond the shadow of a doubt.
—C.J. Knowles