Live Reviews

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Photo: Bill T Miller

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1. Polyethylene –

What Goes on Inside Houses

2. Shadows Fall –

Sounds from the Underground

3. The Sterns – The Sterns

4. The Bags – Mount Rockmore

5. Bon Savants –

Post Rock Defends the Nation

6. Hallelujah the Hills –

Collective Psycosis Begone

7. Frank Smith – Red on White

8. Willard Grant Conspiracy –

Let It Roll

9. Electric Laser People –

Straight Talk on Raising Kids

10. Three Day Threshold –

Against the Grain

11. Dinosaur Jr. – Beyond

12. Medicated Kisses –

Medicated Kisses

13. Mary Timony Band –

The Shapes We Make

14. Trans Am – Sex Change

15. Auto Interiors – Let’s Agree to

Deceive Our Best Friends

16. Girls Guns & Glory –

Pretty Little Wrecking Ball

17. Prime Movers – Back in Line

18. Reports – Mosquito Nets

19. Wheat – Everyday I Said A

Prayer For Kathy and Made A

Once Inch Square

20. Gene Dante & the Future Starlets

– Gene Dante & the Future Starlets

21. Girl on Top – “Superman”

22. Hooray for Earth –

Hooray for Earth

23. Sarah Borges & The Broken

Singles – Diamonds in the Heart

24. Tiger Saw – Tigers on Fire

25. Corin Ashley –

Songs from the Brill Bedroom

26. The Glass Set –

Something Unknown

27. The Information –

Natural Language EP

28. Don Lennon – Radical

29. Emergency Music – You’ll Be the

Death of Us All, Honey

30. The Kin – The Kin

The Noise Top 30 Radio Chart is based on the amount of radio airplay
to locally released recordings. It’s compiled by RadioTony using
playlists from WAAF, WBCN, WFNX, WMBR, WMFO, WTCC, and WZBC. If your station
would like to add its local playlist to the chart, contact

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1. Shadows Fall – Threads of Life

1. Dinosaur Jr. – Beyond

3. Polyethylene – What Goes on Inside Houses

4. The Bags – Mount Rockmore

5. The Luxury – This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

6. Cheater Pint – “Control Freak”

7. The Everyday Visuals – Things Will Look Up

8. The Glass Set – Something Unknown

9. Los Wonder Twins Del Rap – Feast of Steven

10. Don Lennon – Radical

11. Bang Camaro – Bang Camaro

12. Tiger Saw – Tigers on Fire

13. The Underpainting – The Underpainting

14. Spouse – Relocation Tactics

15. Auto Interiors – Let’s Agree to Deceive Our Best Friends

16. Black Fortress of Opium – Black Fortress of Opium

17. The Charms – Strange Magic

18. Hooray for Earth – Hooray for Earth

19. The Vinyl Skyway – From Telegraph Hill

20. The Appreciation Post – Brighter Sides

21. Christians and Lions – More Songs for Dreamsleepers

22. Girls Guns & Glory – Pretty Little Wrecking Ball

23. Hands and Knees – Hands and Knees

24. Mystery Tramps – Cure for the Common Misconception

25. Stephen Brodsky’s Octave Museum – The Octave Museum

26. Reports – Reports

27. The Prime Movers – Back in Line

28. The Winterpills – The Light Divides

29. Willard Grant Conspiracy – Let it Roll

30. Pernice Brothers – Live a Little

The Noise Top 30 Radio Chart is based on the amount of radio airplay
to locally released recordings. It’s compiled by RadioTony using
playlists from WAAF, WFNX, WMBR, WMFO, WTCC, and WZBC. If your station
would like to add its local playlist to the chart, contact

This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it

 

1. The Snowleopards
– Debut

2. Piebald
– Accidental Gentlemen

3. The Winterpills
– The Light Divides

4. Bang Camaro
– Bang Camaro

5. The Glass Set
– Something Unknown

6. The Charms
– Strange Magic

7. Kristin Hersh
– Learn to Sing like a Star

8. Hooray for Earth
– Hooray for Earth

9. Apple Betty
– Let’s Play

10. The Blizzard of 78
– Where All Life Hangs

11. The Larkin Brigade
– Paddy Keys for Mayor

12. The Luxury
– This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

13. Emily Grogan
– At Sea

14. Big D & The Kids Table
– Noise Complaint EP

15. The Gobshites
– Another Round

16. Don Lennon
– “Gay Fun!”

17. Medicated Kisses
– Medicated Kisses EP

18. Pernice Brothers
– Live a Little

19. The Prime Movers
– Back in Line

20. The Appreciation Post
– Brighter Sides

21. Various Artist
– Ace of Hearts: 12 Classic 45s

22. Hanneke Cassel
– Silver

23. Christians and Lions
– More Songs for the Dreamsleepers and the Very Awake

24. Hot Chip
– Remixes and Rarities

25. Monique Ortiz
– Reclining Female

26. The Slip
– Eisenhower

27. Frank Smith
– Red on White

28. Barnicle
– Take Me to Your Room

29. Girls Guns & Glory
– Pretty Little Wrecking Ball

30. Ray Mason
– A Man and His Silvertone

The Noise Top 30 Radio Chart is based on the amount of radio airplay
to locally released recordings. It’s compiled by RadioTony using
playlists from WAAF, WFNX, WMBR, WMFO, WTCC, and WZBC. If your station
would like to add its local playlist to the chart, contact

This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it

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CD Reviews

LENNY LASHLEY’S GANG OF ONE
Pirates Press Records/ Panic State Records                                                   Illuminator 
10 tracks

Landing somewhere musically between the raucousness of Darkbuster and the country leanings of the Piss Poor Boys, Lashley delivers his most affecting set of songs to date.  Those who have focused only on the humor while missing the pathos in his previous work will find that impossible to do here as the sense of loss, displacement, anger, and despair permeating this record is overwhelming.  When on “Happily,” the album’s high point, Lashley sings the words: “I just can’t stand to see you living happily.” They are delivered not with spite but with a matter-of-fact sadness that is so effective that you sincerely wish the song never had to be written.  Even rockers like “Hooligans” that seem fun on the surface, carry a palpable longing for a simpler time.  Lashley’s gang, which includes members of the Bouncing Souls, the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, and Slapshot, is excellent and versatile throughout.  This might be the most moving record you hear all year.       (Kevin Finn)

 

DOUG MACDONALD BAND
Mr. Bones
8 tracks

I was going to say guitarist/vocalist/songwriter Doug MacDonald has a creative knack for capturing blue collar characters and situations, but “blue collar” may be shooting too high. We’re talking about the underbelly of life—real, everyday people—real experiences, on the most basic level. Combine that with Doug and drummer Patty Short’s natural knack for musicality. Their combined musicianship matches their subjects in gritty charm—no fancy/flashy guitar or triple whipwops on the drums—it’s all real—like an excellent ’60s garage band. All the songs are fun to take in, and when the disc ends, I’m quick to hit replay. “Mr. Bones” is the coolest of the stories here—Johnny Rods (Mr. Bones) is a nasty guy who works in a meat room. Within the song, things get scary when Mr. Bones grabs Doug by the neck!  In “Complicated Girl,” Doug squeezes out his feelings of desire with a cool musical build up to the simple, but soothing, chorus of “Girl, closer to you girl.” The production by Tom Hamilton is noteworthy with well-placed hand claps, finger snaps, digital damaged repeats, early fade outs, and a woman’s automated voice starting the disc, repeating: “Honk your horn if you like what you see.” This outstanding, innovative, creative, and original disc is worth honking your horn about—all the way through the summer of 2013. Oh yeah, the tag ending of Doug’s dad crooning over a wobbly organ is touching.  This CD will be played a lot around here.                    (T Max)

 

CHELSEA BERRY
Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
10 tracks

I had a problem with this collection from the very get-go. “It Could Happen to You” is a smart (if derivitive) piece of uptempo blues, but the self-help message seems overtly personal, almost gratuituously shoehorned in, and serves to impose a somewhat strident point of view which mars any putative enjoyment. Message songs should be subtle, not preachy. Few artists have the gravitas, let alone the authority, to bludgeon listeners with didactic pronouncements from on high. Unfortunately, this trend continues with the gorgeous, but clunkily worded ballad “Lonely Being Lonely.” Sometimes it serves an artist best to look at the words to a song and ask whether its message is being expressed in the most appropriate way. There are few artists who can pull off self-pity without sounding, in some degree, themselves pitiable. In spite of these reservations, however, I find myself enraptured by the singer’s obvious melodic, as well as compositional gifts, as evidenced on songs such as “Hard Times,” “Open Arms,” and the splendiferous closing track, “Florida.”   (Francis DiMenno)

 

ELEPHANTS
Elephants
13 tracks

I wouldn’t really go as far as to call them punk, but then again, I wouldn’t not call them punk either. The gritty tone of the guitars, the flurries of Mick Jones-style guitar leads, low-fi aesthetic, and heavy-duty drum style certainly fit the bill. However, the highly melodic flow of the songs and the generally relaxed tempos coupled with the heavy nostalgia of the lyrics and the yearning petal-soft female vocals speak to something else entirely. It’s hard to pigeonhole a band that can glide so easily between the fragile elegance of a tune like “The One Thing,” with its interlocking guitar chimes and bass melodies, to the stirring cacophony and understated breadth of “Black Coffee, Young Merzbow!” Futile, really. The name “Elephants” seems to be an apt descriptor of their style: a massive sound but a sound that’s devoid of doom, gloom, and aggression. A gentle giant, this band, with catchy hooks you’ll never forget.     (Will Barry)

 

WHAT TIME IS IT, MR. FOX?
Little Bit of Blue
13 tracks

Brian King and his menagerie of musical misfits seem to cover just about every style and mood that you could possibly think of, from soul and gospel, jazz and lounge pop, to cabaret, R&B and the great American Songbook.  Brian King at once channels Al Green, Boy George, Tony Hadley, Freddie Mercury, Marc Almond, and Shirley Bassey. There are lush string arrangements, a children’s choir and a five piece backing vocal section, majestic organ swells, and even a singing saw. The production and recording is impeccable.  What Time Is It Mr. Fox? has grown by leaps and bounds from its humble beginnings, constantly adding more artists and musicians to the mix to a point where Mr. Fox is no longer just a great band but a lifestyle, and a very cinematic, larger than life one at that.  If you need an album to lift you up and feel something, anything, with a heavy heart and warm glow, there are thirteen reasons why this is that album.  I couldn’t recommend this album more highly.  (Joel Simches)

 

SARAH BLACKER
Precious Little Things            
6 tracks

I came across Sarah Blacker’s music around three years ago and, instantly, I was hooked. She has got an ever-changing style which takes the best of any number of genres and seamlessly weaves them together. The final result is a sound that always has something new to offer. Precious Little Things is an album with a lot to share, each song possessing a distinct style and structure. Sarah brings a lot of her own experiences to her songwriting, and, in listening to this album, it’s like I’m hearing different parts of her personality, each with its own story to tell. “Shiver” has a quiet, almost melancholy tone to it, telling the story of one who moves on from the dark parts of their life, while “Revelry of Heart” brings the party, delighting in the freedom to make your own choices.

Fellow musicians Chuck Fisher (lead acoustic and electric guitars), Eran Shaysh (drums/ percussion/ harmonies), Erik White (lead electric guitars/ harmonies), and Sean Mc-Laughlin (bass), complement Sarah’s style with their own, reinforcing and strengthening the songs with their contributions. Sarah’s voice is a rich, fluid instrument all its own, which effortlessly shifts from one note to the next. This album brings to mind a packed audience at Club Passim, or an evening at a house concert, filled with friends and fans. Count me among that crowd.                  (Max Bowen)

 

ANNALIVIA
The Same Way Down
9 tracks

One listen to this record and it becomes quite clear that Annalivia’s brand of Celtic-Americana is an acquired taste—relatable to some and completely foreign to others.  For starters, consider the fiddle instrumental, “Up in Smoke” and the band’s interpretation of the classic “Turtle Dove.”  However, regardless of whichever musical “camp” you happen to align yourself with, one thing is for certain: The Same Way Down is a record deserving of repeated listens and therefore, one worth taking a chance on.  Annalivia is the embodiment of heritage pride, so steeped is the band in the history of traditional American roots music, including bluegrass, Irish, Scottish, Norwegian, and Old Time.  The charm lies in their seemingly effortless ability to fuse the aforementioned sounds of yesteryear to create something entirely new with an energy that can only be described as contagious (“Bright Sunny South”).  In a word: charming.    (Julia R. DeStefano)

 

ERIC OTT AND NATE LEBAN           
75 or Less Records
Love Songs and Isolation
6 tracks

This is what happens when two locally acclaimed singer/songwriter types decide to record some songs and collaborate in a barn over coffee and pastries.  Both are very talented writers, infusing all kinds of influences in a low key DIY, semi lo-fi vibe but with clever instrumentation and arrangements that will remind you simultaneously of Bob Dylan, Roy Orbison, Elvis Costello, Tom Petty, Brian Wilson, Harry Nilsson, and early ’70s Eno. The songs are charming and melodic, with themes ranging from loves lost to lip-gloss.  Both play all the instruments, which include electric and acoustic guitars as well as basic piano, organ, and minimal drums and percussion. The collaboration seems easy and natural.  They compliment each other well, giving space and contributing without crowding. The tragedy is that there are only six songs.  Make more music soon!   (Joel Simches)

 

DOCTOR X 
Low Budget Records
Um…Whaddup, Doc? 
12 songs

I suppose if T. Rex and acid rock had remained in vogue for far longer than they actually did, this style of music would be a more prominent part of our sonic heritage. As it is, I find their take on the Yardbirds and all the other usual acid-rock influences to be impeccable—”Washed Away in the Flood” is picture perfect 1967 garage punk and if you like that genre as much as I do, that can only be a good thing. Their closing track, “Misfits,” shows a softer side of the psyche equation—melodic and trippy but also gritty in the mode of late-’60s Pink Floyd and Blue Cheer acolytes. Their original High Life/reggae composition “This Life” is a surprisingly convincing genre pastiche. The bluesy reinterpretations of songs like “Oh! Darling,” and the strangely uptempo rendition of “That’s Entertainment” (with changed lyrics, no less) are aesthetic missteps. But the best tracks are highly recommended.   (Francis DiMenno)

 

PRETTY & NICE    
Rory Records
Golden Rules for Golden People
11 tracks

Well, so much for my usual evening routine of scotch and self-pity. At the moment, I’ve got the sprightly sounds of Pretty & Nice’s latest release practically dervishing from my speakers–an impressive work to say the least. Each track shimmers with giddy synth and jubilant guitars, sugar-high tempos, and octave-jumping vocals. Their attention-deficit arrangements are absolutely astounding with their sudden rhapsodic shifts in rhythm and feel, and adventurous modulations. Yet, even with the intimidating technical prowess of their compositions and the sometimes-disorientating musical shifts, the tunes are still accessible. The melodies and hooks are still so damn catchy they’re practically contagious, so candied I think I got a couple cavities after the first listen. Think Queen, think ELO, think Yes, think the Zombies and you’ve got a good idea of the scope of this band’s sound, and I’m not exaggerating when I say Pretty & Nice could hold their own with the likes of them.   (Will Barry)

 

GIRL ON TOP 
Top Girl Records
Live for It
10 tracks

This record sounds like something you would hear on the Sunset Strip just as Guns N’ Roses was knocking the stupid out of hair metal but before grunge had sent sleazy rock ’n’ roll to the sideline.  Girl on Top plays catchy hard rock with an edge and, for the most part, the band’s infectious energy makes this a fun listen.  Karen DeBiasse has a clear and clean voice but one that has more than a hint of danger to it, and the instrumentation, particularly Peter Zicko’s bass playing, is solid throughout.  The one caveat is that certain parts of the record are best enjoyed by turning off your brain and focusing on the feet and hips. Then again, as rock in many places has become over brainy, is that such a bad thing?        (Kevin Finn)

 

BIG OL’ DIRTY BUCKET
Big Ol’ Dirty Bucket
11 songs

Call me a sentimentalist, but I can’t help regarding this project–which in places approaches the status of a blaxploitation soundtrack—with great fondness. Okay, they throw in some rap to appease the kiddies—particularly on the opening track, “Photonic People,”—and they toss in some calculated vulgarity to spice up “Chuck Norris.” But many of these songs are picture-perfect funk that exploits and gloriously revels in all the genre’s most vital tropes– bizarre, cultic invented words; irresistable rhythmic impetus; goofy wordplay; polyrhythmic foo-fo-raw; interpolated nonsense sounds; wild, one-off guitar solos, and kitchen-sink aesthetics. It’s not pure funk all the way through, but by mixing it up with some genre change-ups like soul and Latin music, the funk shines through loud and clear, most notably on closing track “All Night Long and Once in the Morning.” Highly recommended.          (Francis DiMenno)

 

1476  
Seraphim House
Wildwood
11 tracks
The Nightside
4 tracks

1476 combines elements of classic English folk, ’70s prog, metal, and goth to create a dark, cinematic, and mystical image of the occult aspects of northern New England of days passed.  At times, the band can be heavy and anthemic, like a good Alice Cooper, or Blue Oyster Cult record but without any of the irony.  At other times, this could be the soundtrack to a vampire film set in the 15^th century but with sparkling pale meade guzzling goths riding white horses, with swords and chainmail amour and everything.  This is Rennaissance Faire fare with some major attitude and lush production values. Both these releases came out together at the end of last year as companion pieces.  Wildwood is more of a high concept art album with a cohesive narrative and cinematic flow, whereas The Nightside is a collection of slightly poppier songs, the type of which could have easily found itself on a The The or Lloyd Cole album.  The latter EP seems to flow better as a collection of songs that can stand on their own and as such is a more satisfying listen.  Wildwood could have benefited from some editing.  Listen to both by candlelight with some homemade incense, while wearing a leather mask.    (Joel Simches)

 

IAN JAMES
Grand Delusions
10 tracks

It would be fitting to describe Lowell native Ian James as an anti-conformist in that he is going to do what he wants to do, however exotic to listeners, a characteristic that is hugely commendable.  The self-proclaimed “bastard child of Jimi Hendrix and Boba Fett” is experimentation personified, and Grand Delusions finds James coming out from behind the curtain of his instrumental work to further push the musical boundaries while challenging our preconceived notions, one track at a time. It is here that the one-man-band and producer showcases a voice and guitar full of personality and grit amid a gripping, raw arrangement of sound and effect that is at times reminiscent of Franz Ferdinand and Interpol (“In Your Spell,” “Alone and Grey,” “Living High and Running Fast”).  This is a record that screams confidence, and it is refreshing to witness an artist creating purely for the sake of creating.                 (Julia R. DeStefano)

 

THE TAXIDERMISTS
Pool Party 
18 tracks

If Sonic Youth recorded on crappy equipment, would they sound bril-liant? Maybe. If the Taxidermists recorded on decent equipment, would they sound brilliant? The jury is out.

Pool Party is a mish-mash of lo-fi tracks that bounce between the dissonant art-noise of Sonic Youth, the boom-box-recorded bashing of early Sebadoh, and the atonal punk noise of Flipper. Each of these reference points holds the possibility of brilliance along with the opportunity for complete failure. Track for track, Pool Party falls 50/50 in each category.         (George Dow)

 

JAMES STRAIGHT & THE WIDE STANCE
No Loitering
12 tracks

This is competent of its sort—in the school of punk and glam (less so psychobilly). I suppose it’s unreasonable to expect anything radically new and different from a band which practically bills itself as a revivalist project. What else can you say? This sort of act was old when the Damned were new and much water has flowed under the bridge since those hallowed days. Furthermore, the affect seems flat—none of the songs—with the possible exception of “Crazy for You”—manage to evoke a sense of genuine danger or even excitement—so they come across to me as little more than rote, paint-by-the-numbers genre exercises.     (Francis DiMenno)

 

3 PARTS DEAD
3 Parts Dead 
5 tracks

The 5 tracks that comprise 3 Parts Dead’s debut EP pick up exactly where these former members of Pretty Little Suicide left off. They deliver a heavier, groovier take on the late-’80s hair metal classics of Mötley Crüe and Guns ‘N Roses.

Over the course of 5 tracks, 3 Parts Dead hit up all the genre tropes—party-’til-you-drop anthem in “Party Never Ends,” hold-up-your-lighter power ballet in “So Long Girl,” and vaguely mysoginistic-hot-girl-worship in “Tattoo’d Toy.”

If hair metal is your thing, 3 Parts Dead is right up your alley.      (George Dow)

 

CONOR MULROY
FoxFire
16 tracks

As this reviewer learned while listening to FoxFire, one must be in the right mindset in order to fully appreciate it.  Even so, right around “Movement 1, Part 4,” it becomes quite clear that this style is not to everybody’s liking and rightfully so, as the blend of bluegrass, classical, and progressive jazz elements has a tendency to become repetitive as the record progresses.  However, if you can manage to quiet your mind long enough to make it through to “Movement 2, Part 8,” the closing track, you will undoubtedly come to the realization that Mulroy is immensely talented and commend him for creating such a cohesive piece of work—even if it is an acquired taste and you find yourself getting lost amongst the song titles of “Movement 1, Part __” and “Movement 2, Part __.”  On the whole, FoxFire is promising, with a vibrancy that makes it best suited for inclusion in a television or film soundtrack.  (Julia R. DeStefano)

 

TIK TOK
Draw Some Monsters
8 tracks

Thick with dredging bass and slick greaser guitar lines, bolstered with the clang of piano and dirge of drums, Tik Tok foster a sound that’s dark, dismal, and completely irresistible. The tunes are prone to manic-depressive shifts in tone and tempo, as well as theatrical build-ups and breakdowns. The feisty female vocals, too, are intriguingly unpredictable, cooing like a dove one minute, then spitting hellfire the next. Even the production impresses, incorporating subtle studio magic, like the crackle of vinyl or the ominous ticking of a clock. With its bawdy burlesques, klezmer-tinged waltzes, and soul-crushing ballads, Tik Tok’s Draw Some Monsters sculpts a diverse and dark-toned cabaret that’s dripping with pathos. Their Sturm und Drang style cannot be ignored.     (Will Barry)

 

THE DEMOGRAPHIC   
Listen Close
8 tracks

The newest release from Northampton, Massachusetts’, guitar and bass duo, the Demographic, is a noisy conglomeration garage-rock and Neil Young-esque guitar work mixed with proto-grunge and alt-country. Yes—an odd mix but delivered perfectly.

Maybe most interesting are Tom Pappalardo’s vocals. At one moment, on the most rocking tracks like “Building Buildings” and “Ghosts of the Lower Barometrics,” he sounds like the bastard child of Kiss’ Ace Frehley and Naked Raygun’s Jeff Pezzati. In the next moment, when they take the volume down, “Letter” and “When I’m Dead,” he’s a dead ringer for the Drive-by Truckers’ Mike Cooley.      (George Dow)

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BLEU
The Norva
Norfolk, VA
4/4/02

I’m looking around the club as Bleu begins his E-band set. There seems to be a mostly older crowd in attendance, and they’re confused. Who is this guy with the headphones? But when Boston’s favorite catchy songwriter starts playing the beats on his handy CD player, confusion turns to joy. Seriously. I feel like I’m in church during “Searchin’ For the Satellites,” as the lady in front of me waves her hand in the air in true hallelujah fashion – for the whole song. “That’s Life” gets some hollers from the back of the club, and I swear I hear some muffled sobs behind me as Bleu belts “Somethin’s Gotta Give.” His great tunes and goofy banter onstage are an instant hit in his home state. Remember me saying the crowd looks older? For some bizarre reason, after the set, Bleu is surrounded by young, female autograph seekers. Those sideburns must be beacons for pretty young things. (Meri Birdwell)

ANNETTE FARRINGTON, COUNTESS, SPARKOLA
608
4/5/02

Sparkola are the “stunt doubles” for Countess members Adam Buhler, Steve Powers, and Jason Sakos. In Sparkola, Adam and Steve switch up their Countess bass and guitar roles, and Steve sings lead. The trio delivers a set of slightly funky, slightly jazzy rock that draws people forward from the bar area. These guys are strong musicians, and they put on an energetic show. Though I like the songs, I can’t help wanting a bit more funk, more punch in the bass, and some crowd-pleasing hooks in the songs. They almost win me over, but I want to hear more.

Countess takes the stage like a dog that grabs you in its teeth and shakes you mercilessly for 40 minutes. The sound is loud, angry, and wholly cathartic, relenting only for “Pony Up,” apropos for the vacuous parody of a pop song that it is. The stage is in chaos, crawling with camcorder-wielding men, rubber outfitted nurses, a sleazy industry exec glued to his cell phone, and two perfectly syncopated blonde-wigged dancers in skimpy pink leather. The audience is riveted, and some lucky adorers are rewarded with licks of sugar frosting from Cynthia von Buhler’s fingers. As “Alicia,” Cynthia is a stalking, writhing, screaming priestess, the rock temple’s pythia channeling the god of music-industry disgust. Bass player Izzy Maxwell is an angelic dervish in boxer shorts and converse high-tops who, with “TOFU” written on his chest in black marker, turned me vegetarian on the spot. This is Countess’ last Boston show, and they go out in style.

I wouldn’t want to play in the band that headlines when Countess is one of the opening acts. In fact, I would say that Annette Farrington is the closing act for Countess. During an excruciatingly long soundcheck about 2/3 of the audience leaves the club. Then Annette’s band plays a monotonous set that puts me in mind of what Tanya Donnelly might sound like if backed by The Banshees. What’s left of the audience talks through the whole thing. The highlight of the act is the guitar player’s monk outfit from the Holy Order of St. Calvin Klein, revealing glimpses of his black boxer briefs through a side slit. Well, that and the synth guy’s pleather T-shirt. We all want to know where to get one of those. (Laura Slapikoff)

CHANDLER TRAVIS PHILHARMONIC
Midway Cafe
3/28/02

A friend comments, “I’ll never forgive him for stabbing Sharon Tate,” referring to the bearded, pajama-clad bandleader. Hey, I like the guy: he’s fun to watch, and he offsets the ponderous audience of thirty-somethings, doing their best Overly-Ernest Goes to Camp routine and frequently blocking my view. I’d start with the elbow jabs, but some of them look like lawyers.

An occasional aural Communism notwithstanding, when the C.T.P. is successfully integrated, the hinted genres-dixieland, klezmer accents, brass chorales-twist and mate over solid songwriting, dopey lyrics lightening the anthems that the group skates dangerously close to performing. It’s a driven, locomotive power that lifts me after the atonal ruts, the gestalt of a compassionate sadist: a short dose of tympanic pain, soon relieved by a honking, “give-me-the-willies” kind of song that I wish I’d written. Next time I’ll get drunk, so I won’t feel embarrassed about hoisting my lighted Bic. (The Duke of Atterbury)

KARATE, THE IVORY COAST, FIN FANG FOOM
The Middle East
3/9/02

The worst part about going to a show by myself is that I invariably run into the another guy who’s there by himself, who wants to tell me all about his latest surgery. Tonight is no exception. This is why beer is called social lubricant by so many; without the innovations of Capt. Pabst, I could very well seize-this guy by the throat, that is.

The only thing more intolerable than my new best friend is the flaccid, uninspired set by the Ivory Coast. They’ve got barely enough onstage energy to lightly toast a slice of bread, and their original material sounds like bad Sebadoh covers. I can’t take my eyes off the lead singer’s wrinkled shirt-I guess nobody told him he was playing a show tonight.

Karate then take the stage, exuding a cool confidence, and rightly so; clearly most of the audience is here for them. Almost all of their set is new material, which is jazz-tinged, to say the least. Unfortunately their confidence at times gives way to too-cool smugness, and by the sixth guitar solo, I’m ready to pack it in. However, before I can squeeze out of the crowd, Karate launches into what I later find out is 1/2 of their new 2-song EP, which might not sound like Karate, but it’s still good music. (Jesse Thomas)

THE ROLLING TONGUES REVIEW, JEDEDIAH PARISH & THE MOTHER TONGUES, CHARLIE CHESTERMAN
The Lizard Lounge
4/10/02

At 9:30, it looks like a slow night at the Lizard. Due to a babysitting SNAFU, Chaz & the Motorbikes didn’t make it to the club, but Charlie Chesterman steps up in the spirit of going on with the show, and performs a solo set of decently enjoyable folk songs. Flipping through his journal to pick out songs to play, he admits that he hates listening to guys with acoustic guitars, and hates listening to guys with crib notes even more. He gives the song “New Bluebird Tattoo” a folk-punk treatment, and finishes his set to a full house and hearty applause.

Jed Parish & the Mother Tongues come out and play an in-your-face set of songs from both of Jed’s solo albums. On CD the songs are thoughtful and spacious, but Jed growls them out loud and hard live. It’s Jed’s birthday, and someone hands around bottles of bubble soap. The audience blows bubbles, giving the club a nouveau Lawrence Welk Show ambience. With Lori Perkins (Seks Bomba) on backing vocals, the trio delivers a gorgeous rendition of The Velvet Underground’s “Candy Says.” During the Mother Tongues’ “smoke break,” Jed plays a Ray Charles cover, accompanying himself on the keyboard. When the break ends, Lori comes out with a “sexual” birthday cake built from Twinkies and mini-donuts covered with candles, and we all sing “Happy Birthday.” The second half of the set includes a powerful “Monkey Blues” and a slinky version of the whimsical “Clawfoot Tub.” Jed IS the Silver Gorilla. Go see him.

The real treat of the evening is a closing set of Rolling Stones covers from The Rolling Tongues Review. The Review consists of Jed and his Figgs/ Gravel Pit compañeros in a variety of combinations, flawlessly performing Stones gems from the early ’60s through the late ’70s. I’m a huge fan of the Stones from this period, and I’m going out on a limb to say that these guys do a better job with these songs than the Stones themselves do anymore. Mike Gent is the spitting image of a young Bill Wyman, lending an eerie authenticity to the experience, and he plays a mean bottleneck slide guitar. Throughout the set, the musicians change instruments frequently which adds to the fun, and the audience sings and chair-dances to every song. It’s Jed’ s birthday, but The Rolling Tongues Review is an unexpected gift to everyone who had the sense to show up tonight. (Laura Slapikoff)

THE JUMBLIES, HIP TANAKA, MISSION CREEP
Midway Cafe
3/22/02

Mission Creep are a duo-one guy on drums, one on vocals and hardware store. Okay, guitar, keys, computer, hand-held thingamabobs and a couple milk crates of other stuff I don’t recognize. And they sound great. It’s kinda like if electronica, prog, improv, techno/ house/ trance/ dub/ blah-blah, radio static, found sounds, home noodling and sheer luck all fell under one heading. Actually, I guess they do now. Gallantly straddlin’ that fuzzy-ass line between dance music and shit you can actually listen to, it’s highly engaging cut-n-paste-with-a-beat type stuff that thousands of lesser acts have failed miserably at. And the chickadees love it. Maybe the key is that they don’t kill you with samples, volume or forced aggro nonsense in an attempt to sound hip. It’s just…enjoyable. Think about this for a sec. Enjoyable music. How’s that for a fuckin’ concept?

You might as well forget everything I ever said about Hip Tanaka and how they keep reinventing themselves, ’cause the dirty fuckers went and did it again. Since the only predictable thing about ’em is their unpredictability, it makes writing about it pointless-whatever I tell ya ain’t gonna happen next time out. This time, let’s see, they lost the keys and lead vocalist, added a guitar, kidnapped the late Innerpink’s drummer, wrote a bunch more twisted, fabulous shit, completely retooled some of the old stuff, and found some new funny hats. My favorite thing about ’em is the beer money I save, because they always make me feel punch-drunk after about two songs. Without rehashing my whole spiel, let’s just say that A) anyone else trying to do the insidious/ precise/ shambles thing should just hang it up now, and B) I spend way too much time wondering what these mad scientists are up to in the lab every night. They’re a flame, you’re a moth, and that’s the beauty of nature.

During The Jumblies’ set, someone actually turns to me and says, “I could jerk off to this.” I assure you this doesn’t come from any bullshit navel-bearing antics or “Do Me Baby” lyrics, ’cause there aren’t any. Rather (and I completely agree), he means that you can get so completely sideswiped by the beauty of this music, that your entire memory can go blank for a while. I rarely use terms like life-affirming, but there’s peace and strength and reassurance and womb-like warmth and safety and all that cosmic crap here, and with all that comes, yeah, a major orgasmic floaty feeling that does scream for release. Which isn’t to say they don’t have some icier tunes or can’t rock out, but the overall effect is easily as good as any drug or blowjob I’ve personally had. And since I can’t do drugs and don’t get blowjobs anymore, I’m pretty fuckin’ grateful for this band. (Joe Coughlin)

PORNBELT, THE TAKERS, GRAND ISLAND, MUTANT MESSAGE
Midway Cafe
4/12/02

In defiance of this magazine’s strict word counts, I offer the following in hopes that this policy will change.

Mutant Message do skinny-white-guy rap with cello, which is more than mutant enough a message for me. It tanks.

Grand Island scream lotsa loud nonsense over clumsy, clanging non-riffs. It tanks.

The Takers sound like an actual rock band (or for that matter, music at all), and fairly seize the moment. This seems to piss off the artsy crowd, who are here to support their artsy friends in the other bands, so they stand around pretending they’re cooler than this. They’re not.

The only few bearable seconds of Pornbelt’s appearance is before they start, when the bass player pops her top. What in the ungodly fuck does it say about a band when punk rock kazoo has actually been done a million times better? This has to be some kind of milestone in evolution, or a sign of the apocalypse. Perhaps the shrillest, most painful and pointless cacophony I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve seen some real train wrecks. I’m outta here. (Joe Coughlin)

DROP DOSE, THE RUMBLETONES, MOVING BUILDINGS, KRISTIAN MONTGOMERY BAND
Midway Cafe
3/29/02

Perhaps I was a tad harsh on Kristian Montgomery in a recent CD review-which isn’t to say I’m not a genius, or that I like the record. I also hear they got fucked outta their alleged time slot tonight, so props to ’em for even sticking around, if that’s true. Must be those Anger Management classes I’m taking, but the fact is, every year, some yuppie-friendly bar band like this gets lucky. And they’re undeniably great at what they do, they move tons of product, and everyone leaves happy. I guess it all depends on if you wear your Hootie comparisons as praise or an insult. I mean, it’s not like they sound like they do by accident. I have no use for what these guys play, but I’m fairly shocked at the sincerity they’re putting out here. I still think it’s for Extremely Average Puds, but this is America, and the Puds are allowed to rock, too.

I like bands that confuse the Puds, so lucky for me, Moving Buildings are on the bill to fuck everything up. Opening with the wonderfully screwy “Treehugger,” they fearlessly fling notes into the air like those Ninja Star things, dippin’n’doodlin’ from polyrhythmic pomp into stone-free Hendrix territory, sometimes within the same passage. They switch instruments around and make it all look easy, with lyrics jumping from the intriguingly arcane to the traditional “Huh?” They’ve trimmed the more extreme jazz and goofball elements from the set tonight, but are no less busy, agile or interesting for it. They’re one of the few bands for whom I’ll waive my usual “Only Cover ‘Em Once” policy, as they never fail to surprise me, and more often than not leave me googly-eyed and rethinkin’ my very tastes, even after all this time. The Puds look lost. I’m happy.

Swerve #3: The Rumbletones start with some boogified, near-metal covers of like, 50’s tunes and stuff (“Sea Cruise”?!?!) that work so perfectly, it’s almost disturbing. I’m reminded of long-gone locals Heavybilly (need I explain?). Similar idea, different results. There are subtleties here that have no right to be called that (you figure it out). Couple’a blues-tinged numbers follow, something I usually ignore, but they’re played with such obvious heart, I can’t look away. There are some anthem-type rah-rah things and a few more of those spray-painted cover jobs, and I’m thinking, this is the kinda Big Dumb Fun you’d go see when you were 22 (in 1980) and still lived in Winchendon-yet it’s so self-confident, it outsmarts 95% of the precious city-slicker shit we all wring our hands over. They’d be right at home playing a biker pig roast, and that to me is a lot rock’n’rollier than whoever’s on the cover this month. Jeez, whaddaya know-The Puds Are Alright!

Speakno’which, remember these two words: Drop Dose. I’m so glad someone is doing this, “this” being… um, modern classic rock, or something. They look more “then” but sound as much “now,” even though they ain’t exactly either. I can see ’em winning over fans of, say, Bad Company as easily as fans of (insert current dirtball arena act). And dare I say, these factions can learn from each other? (Namely, I hope we can learn new phrases for stuff like, “They brought the rock,” even if it IS the truth.) Anyway, it’s the old retro-versus-timeless argument, and you know who’s winning that one here. Some of the material has a little ways to go, but their blueprint’s a ding-dong doozie. And “Thicker Skin” carries an obscenely simple, super-glue riff that has infected my every waking moment for about six weeks now. It’s unshakable to the point of serious derangement. In other words, the very thing I live for. Is there like, a Pud Army fan club I can join? (Joe Coughlin)

COLD COFFEE
The Kendall Café
4/11/02

It’s interesting to see a clamorous garage-punk band adjust their sound and style to fit into the folksy Kendall. Cold Coffee pulls this modification off successfully, as evident by their cool, laid-back Velvet Underground-ish set. It dawns on me that ‘punk’ is an attitude and a technique, much more than it is a certain sound. Guitarists Sean Dillman and Noel Ventresco know this; they take turns at the mike, spattering out a trash bag full of skewed, jagged originals that connect best with fans of the first-wave underground, or any Lou Reed fan for that matter. The sweeping, sonic shiver of “My Last Place” calls to mind the Benzedrine-soaked trip-tones of Television’s “Carried Away.” Other choice brews include the folk-tinged “Waiting For The Fun” and a decaffeinated version of “Living in the Shadow of the Big Block.” (Steve Prygoda)

MIRROR MIRROR
Pub 30something
Tyngsboro, MA
4/13/02

Don’t let the name of this club fool you. There are some “barely legals” here along with folks that are old enough to be my parents. This shows that the band appeals to a wide array of people. With that said, I must also add that the sound quality here is excellent. Mirror Mirror specializes in hard rock, and each table is thumping with their driving beat. The drummer is so fierce, he needs a kit twice the size of the one he’s playing on to sustain his fury. Each member displays a remarkable talent with the exception of the rhythm guitarist. In the few songs he sings, his vocal range is poor, and his guitar is actually out of tune. He also sports a mullet haircut. Ouch. I do enjoy myself though, and the atmosphere is friendly. (Free cake!) As long as the band can cut down on the cheesy cover ballads and fine tune that guitarist (literally), I see great things. (Sue O.)

Photo: Weth

Campaign For Real Time

Twenty-eight years and the WBCN Rock ‘n’ Roll Rumble is still going strong. This year the current Mr. Rumble himself, Shred, nicknames it a Rock Fight. The event has been built on solid grounds with emphasis on fairness for each band to have a chance to win it all. There are no tickets for the bands to sell. It’s not about how many fans the band brings down or how loud their fans can scream. And most importantly, it’s not a “pay-to-play” situation. Each of the 24 bands receives an invitation to play and is paid well ($200 for prelim set, $750 if they advance to the semis, and $3000, $1750, or $1000 if they reach the finals—and there are also some pretty hefty prize packages). To be eligible for an invitation, the band must have had airplay on WBCN. They can’t have played a previous Rumble. And they can’t be in negotiations with or signed to a major label. Each night five judges (experienced people from the music business) give point scores in six categories—material (1-10 points), playing effectiveness (1-10 points), vocal effectiveness (1-10 points), timing (1-10 points), stage presence (1-5 points), plus a bonus category (1-5 points) to cover anything beyond the other categories. At the end of each night the judges’ scores are totaled up. The high score may very well be the winner, but to be safe, the high and low votes for each band are dropped (to ensure that no judge is trying to force a win with lopsided voting) and the scores are tallied up once more. If the same band wins again, then they are the night’s winner. If a different band wins after dropping the highs and lows, this total overrides the first tally and the new high scorer is the winner. For history buffs, there was once a Rumble rule that said if a band made use of extra lights or a fog machine, then the other bands could also use those same effects. But the rule didn’t stick.

Now, let the Noise Rumble Team (Steve Gisselbrecht, Shithead, Joel Simches, Weth, Robin Umbley, Kevin Finn, Shady, Lexi Kahn, and me) add our rock throwing to the rock fight.

Campaign For Real Time packs the room early and hands out anti-android tracts; they’ve got an elaborate off-stage schtick.  The music is booty shaking, high-energy funk-rock, heavy on keyboards, with some canned beats under the live drums.  Several members switch off among keyboards and vocals, and one keyboardist, Wile E. Peyote, has apparently just joined in the last week.  Like most funk, I find the music pretty simple, aside from the powerhouse bass lines and some soul harmonies. But they’ve got the total show, and a strong sense of how to work an audience.  There’s a weird Rocky Horror moment when fans throw books at the band.

Alchemilla is a vastly more straightforward experience.  A five-piece, they are centered around singer Kat Burke.  She’s a diva and a power-wailer, and I’m completely enthralled whenever she’s singing.  The rest of the band tends toward a classic rock feel on most of their songs, but they mix it up on one weird one with verses in ten and choruses in eleven.  I’m pleased to hear them branching out.  They are playing with a fill-in drummer tonight, former bandmember Matt Russell, who is pretty impressive on two rehearsals. Somewhat unwisely, they end with their slowest number.

The room kind of clears out before A Hero Next Door goes on.  From the look of things, I’m guessing that this is because most of their fans are too young to get into this show.  The ones that are here crowd the front of the stage and scream along to every song.  I find this band somewhat distressingly one-note; if there’s an emotion that cannot be expressed by strumming sixteenth notes with the distortion cranked all the way up and screaming along, they don’t want to know about it.  But they’ve certainly got a strong, energetic presence.

Last up is Cocked N’ Loaded, and they bring the rawk.  There’s actually some pleasant guitar melody hiding in all their bombast, and I enjoy them more than I expected to.  Every song has more or less exactly the same arc, with a fast, wanky metal guitar solo and a call-and-response screaming chorus.  These last are quite effective, and the front row screams along with each one, although they get to sounding quite similar after a while.  We are also treated to many clouds of spit beer, which look pretty under the lights but dismay the photographer in the front row.

Winner: Campaign for Real Time.

Taxpayer. This is my second time seeing the band and something really clicks tonight—I feel like I suddenly “get it,” whatever “it” was that previously had me thinking they were merely “good,” when they’re actually outstanding. Atmosphere abounds. I’ve always loved the imagery good guitar work can conjure; the quieter bits cloud-like over the passing landscapes of the rhythm section, the louder bits like a futuristic pirate ship in a stormy ocean. This set’s chock full of such flavor. A few technical flubs aside, the music and performance are simply epic. Taxpayer’s my “easy pick” to win the night.

Most of the crowd clears out before Mach 5. More leave during their AC/DC/ Crue inspired set. Lead singer Mach Bell was in the first Rumble in 1979, which is both impressive and kinda sad—I mean, one would think he’s accumulated so much experience and wisdom to convey, then he throws on sequins and bug-eyed sunglasses to sing about… pussy. It’s kind of creepy, definitely sloppy, and frankly puerile. Sweet. Their last tune is a heartfelt tribute to the once-hoppin’ Kenmore Square . I’m mostly worried that the guy’s gonna fall off that amp and really hurt himself.

I’m a sucker for harmony, and Scamper’s Cars/ Weezer-esque tunes deliver the best harmonies I’ve heard in this town. Another bass has to be borrowed from Taxpayer (bonus points for Taxpayer, says T Max) after “Brendo” performs two songs on his knees with the mic angled down. The crowd takes a ridiculous amount of pictures of their genius/ goofball choreography, which is damn good stuff. Scamper just puts a smile on your face regardless, and that seems to be the point. I’m still convinced Taxpayer’s got it nailed, but in my heart I want these dorky, unassuming, wildly entertaining guys to emerge victorious.

I admit, with all that Internet slagging I expected Sublime-esque funk-pop bullshit that I keep around the house in lieu of ipecac, but Plan B’s alright. Not my thing, but definite punk/ metal-pop talent. Purists will see too many strings on stage, and the singer’s got matching star tattoos, but they’re the tightest band tonight and I enjoy it. Great delivery, too, particularly singer Billy Silvestri, who is enthused, spastically mobile, and on point throughout. He mugs his way through “I Fucked Your Girlfriend” like a muppet, which puts the tongue firmly back in cheek, where it belongs on such material. Good job, kids.

Scamper takes it—which makes me almost completely happy—then I learn that Taxpayer fell behind by just a half-point—then I’m completely happy. Best Rumble night ever.

Say When takes the stage, looking smart in their freshly washed and ironed T-shirts and jeans, the rhythm section adorned in matching backwards baseball caps. While singer Max Latif is a strong frontman who engages the crowd by sticking the mic into the audience so they can sing “whoa!,” it is the bass player, Mike Marvuglio, who steals the show with his goofy faces and flamboyant stage moves. The band plays it safe, sticking to their Foo Fighters/ Matchbox 20-lite formula, much to the delight of their fans, but to the ire of those wanting something more substantial. Adam Glasseye is overheard saying, “I hate this more than terrorism.”

Casey Desmond’s set starts with some flamboyantly powerful vocal exercises!  Holy fuck, can this girl sing! She’s aided by the best side musicians and soundman that money can buy.  Their set loses major points for having a six string bass.  Why is that necessary?  While Casey’s performance electrifies and engages the now packed room, her songs lack substance, originality and dynamics.  You could chalk that up to being such a young singer-songwriter. Hopefully in time, her skills as a songwriter will catch up with her talents as a vocalist.    

Certainly, Sir sets up their magic boxes of analog electronic chocobliss and delivers a stunning set of material, aided by guest vocalist Kristina Johnson on their first song. Their loops, live drums, electronics, and guitar parts are working with synergistic exactitude, but fail to engage the audience, who sadly become bored, restless, and talkative.  A shame, as this is really the best performance in quite some time, sounding especially like Curtis Mayfield gone electropop. I am mesmerized… easily the most interesting band I have seen this evening so far.

Appomattox starts their set with a no holes barred approach to taking the stage by storm.  When you see a power trio with a red vistalite drum kit, a Fender bass and a Gibson SG, you’d expect some kind of rock power trio supergroup.  Appottamox isn’t about that.  They are emo, yet energetic… no shoegazing from these guys. Guitarist Nick Gaynier flails about the stage and looks his audience in the eye. Their set is relentlessly intense, tight, and bursting with energy.  Whoo! Indeed.

Winner: Appottamox!

Sucka Brown starts the night with some feel-good party funk that gets the baseball-capped boys in the audience to nod in syncopated approval. Singer Brendan Hall’s compelling, soulful croon enhances his engaging stage presence; Scott Sowden’s slap-n-pop bass keeps the rhythm somewhat fluid and bouncing. The band has limited dynamic, though, saddled by Todd Denman’s uninspired guitar work that sticks to a rhythm role, and the consistently mid-tempo disco beat from drummer Matt Slowik. It’s feel-good funk rock that never manages to break through to feel-great.

Tiger Saw slows the pace down further with an excursion into soothing, ethereal folk tunes. The instrumentation range is quite broad, that includes flute, accordion, and banjo, along with the more standard guitar, bass, keyboards, drums, and cello. Normally a six-piece ensemble, tonight they are joined by Casey Dienel on additional keyboards. All seven sing, often together with sweetly soothing, repetitive harmonies. Lush yet plodding, the crowd murmurs over their low, soothing dynamic. Did I mention that they’re soothing? Such sonic territory is mined well by bands such as The Decemberists, but without being especially tight, clever, or weird, Tiger Saw remains charming but lightweight.

Not much is lightweight about We’re All Gonna Die. This three-piece comes across as ZZ Top out on a drunken metal bender. Perhaps what’s most impressive about this band is Jim Healey’s vocal range; he can go from straightforward singing to full-bore powerscream in a downbeat, all while cranking out steelgrater guitar riffs. Jim’s brother, Scott Healey, pounds on the drums, and cousin Russ Boudreau beats the crap out of his bass—it’s a family mayhem affair. Crushed beer cans are thrown at and from the stage by the packed, adoring crowd. A truly wild set.

Somewhat obscured by banks of colored stage lights shining back at the audience, Eyes Like Knives delves into fast, distorted synth-washed songscapes. Both Scott Toomey and Rebekka Takamizu share guitarist/ keyboardist/ vocalist duties, exchanging leading roles in a series of captivating volleys. Eyes Like Knives harkens back to gothy ’80s Britpop somewhat (if only they had a fog machine), but what keeps it from being derivative shoegazer fare is twofold: Andre Obin’s propulsive and driving basslines, as well as the ongoing interplay between Toomey and Takamizu. The lights get kind of annoying, though; better bring sunglasses to the semifinals…

Winner: Eyes Like Knives

As their opening song goes, “Coffin Lids rock ‘n’ roll!” Rock AND roll they do with aplomb. They play their brand of campy-but-serious garage rock as triumphantly and as polished as if they had just won the Rumble. Skinny Mike, with his technicolored tattooed arms and slicked back greaser look plays to the crowd, which enthusiastically helps out on choruses. Melissa Coffin on Farfisa organ joins The Coffin Lids’ guitar, bass, and drums lineup, adding depth to their low-fi sixties sound. Their performance is a slinky, sexy, guitar-driven controlled catharsis. Due to time constraints, the audience is denied their encore.

Harris can’t quite ride the raw energy generated by The Coffin Lids, but they try. This five-piece—two guitars, bass, keyboards, and drums—has a funkier wacka-wacka sound enhanced by spacey keyboards. Their stage presence is meeker and more casual; they don’t have the personality to overcome their baggy jeans and polo shirt look. Their songs begin with interesting musical ideas but each deteriorates into a sludge jam with excessive whaling on the crash cymbal. Highlight: Jim Reed, the mild-mannered keyboard player, undergoes a personality change and becomes a psycho vocalist on one song. He should consider becoming Harris’s permanent frontman.

I smell irony all over the place with The Sharking. This is a four-piece—two guitars, bass, and drums—that play a poppy, Big Star, Elvis Costello—when Elvis was edgier—sound. Frontman Marc Flynn looks and behaves like a cross between John Belushi and Christopher Lloyd as Reverend Jim with his unkempt hair and rumpled clothes—but balanced with checkerboard sneakers and a Gibson Explorer—and this works with the crowd. The band is tight, musically polished and interesting; they mix up the sounds from just vocals with rhythm guitar to all out rock.

The Jonas Complex does double duty tonight, having just played their style of bombastic hard rock Downstairs at Emergenza. This four-piece’s power is vocalist Brig Dauber: a boyish, waifish looking singer whose fierce pipes defy his size and looks. He has a surprisingly riveting stage presence, and effectively moderates his voice between moaning and controlled screams. But every song follows the same formula: an intriguing beginning ends with the same powerful screaming which becomes predictable and tiresome. Musically, the instruments sound sludgy (why waste an Gibson SG Supreme with a Crate amp?) and much of the crowd seeks refuge in the restaurant.

I am perplexed and jaded by now; Harris wins.

When The Rudds hit the stage, the crowd reacts with such boisterous glee that I’m worried the place will empty out immediately following their set, and that the other bands won’t be given a fair chance. Buoyed by the crowd, The Rudds deliver a heck of a set. They sound like a roots rock influenced Cheap Trick, but fronted by a white Prince. John Powhida is in great voice, and his demonstrative gesticulations add flair, but the real star is guitarist Brett Rosenberg, all tasty restraint one moment, all flashy showmanship the next. Overall, a tough act to follow.

Rooftop Suicide Club is up next, and for the most part, they acquit themselves well, as their laid-back jangle-pop offers a welcome contrast to The Rudds’ more frenzied approach. Singer/ guitarist Chris Haskell has a boyish voice that reminds me of Clint Conley, but the music is steeped more in ’70s AOR, albeit with an indie touch. I particularly like the instrumental portions of the songs where Haskell’s guitar and Jeff Gobush’s keyboards create a slight dissonance. They lose some steam toward the end, particularly on a slower number that has some cringe-inducing harmonies. All in all, it’s a solid performance.

Random Acts Of Violence inject a welcome dose of testosterone to the mix, as they play metal for people who like metal, not for pop fans who just want to feel tough. Their aggressive energy is contagious; they are an absolute blast to watch, and you have to admire their tough stance against all things bullshit. I particularly love the harmonized guitar playing and the fact that this is a band that puts on no airs. I suppose the band could use a little more tunefulness now and then, but I’d be hesitant to tamper with a winning formula.

As for Faces On Film, I’m wondering how they got this far, and yes, I know it’s only the first round. They’re in clear violation of Random Acts Of Violence’s no bullshit stance. Some of the interplay between the guitars has an interesting Sonic Youth-type vibe, but too often the music comes across as indie-rock-by-numbers or as studied and self-aware to the point of pretension. Singer Mike Fiore also comes off as a bit whiny when expresses that The Rudds are going to be named winners, which, at the end of the night, they deservedly are.

 

Looking like Jed Clampett’s long lost first cousins, We’re All Gonna Die rips into their set of crushingly loud and hard groove-based rock. I’ve never experienced this level of pure volume at the Middle East Up. Bass player Russ Boudreau sports a mullet, forklift company baseball cap, and chain wallet. Guitarist Jim Healey could be a stand in for Dusty Hill of ZZ Top and kicks serious hard rock ass. Scott Healey’s destructo-thon drumming in his sleeveless Schlitz T-shirt completes this band. There’s no doubt that they can play—and did I mention that they’re loud?

Scamper is pretty much the antithesis of We’re All Gonna Die. Imagine if you will, Weezer joining forces with Fountains Of Wayne and losing the bet to The Click Five. Add some choreographed dance moves by way of bass player Brendan Clarke and guitarist Nate Rogers and you have what feels might be the weakest band of the night. They are a little too clever for me—although all of the girls in front of me in their Abercrombie uniforms and ponytails, seem to dig it, so what do I know?

It’s time for some scorching indie rock from Appomattox . I’m talking the old school variety—with James Mello’s frenetic drumming and Dave Nurmi’s thumping bass. Singer/ guitarist Nick Gaynier completes the marriage with his breakneck pace of jumping, shouting, and staring down the audience like Frank Black and Thom York. Appomattox draws me in with the screeching, staccato rhythmic guitars. I can’t fail to mention their ode to George W­—three dancers in rubber Bush masks with black T-shirts reading “Thief” —brilliant stuff.

Last up is Campaign For Real Time. I’m not sure what this is supposed to be exactly—a mix of dance grooves and funked out rock, tons of energy for sure. Sort of a KC & The Sunshine Band shaking hands with the devil. The recipe also containes various keyboards, samples, rapping, shouting, and singing. Plus they completely floor me with singer Lee Bronson’s ’70s impersonation of Shemp from the Three Stooges. Not my favorite of the evening, but entertaining for sure. And I bet a they’re a hit at frat parties.

Results: Scamper scamps in and steals the night.

Taxpayer starts off with the catchy, propulsive “When They Were Young,” the chorus of which I would find myself singing for the next week. This gets the crowd jumping; the band is big on personality, channel the room’s energy, and deftly deliver a tight set of juicy pop nuggets. Based on Taxpayer’s dynamic blend of sexy atmospherics, evocative, sublime vocals, and hard-hitting guitars, it’s no mystery at all why they’re on Lunch Records, the label that launched Bleu and Helicopter Helicopter. Killer sophisticated pop, but fun too – made more so when Aberdeen City ‘s Brad Parker joins them for “Surrender.”

Eyes Like Knives swings easily into their distinctive set of… electroclash-emo, maybe? Between charming banter they overflow with equally charming music, though they don’t bring “song” into their songs. I like the way this kind of weightless, airy cotton-candy synth pop has the power to transform a room, and before long there’s practically a rhythmic sway to the crowd, mesmerized under Eyes Like Knives’ shimmering waves. Light on composition, heavy on mood-making, keyboards and delicate vocals, their cover of “Eye in the Sky” requires no explanation. In fact, it practically precludes one.

You COULD argue that The Rudds only appear to rock like the proverbial hurricane because Eyes Like Knives is so soothing, but you’d be wrong – they do that every damn time, man. This crew delivers an anthemic riot of old school rock ‘n’ roll, and I love it when J. Po channels the Purple One and goes all writhy and falsetto. Andrea Gillis’s throaty vocals kill me, plus she gets my best-rack-of-the-Rumble award. The keys rock hard, the drums rock hard, and I can’t say enough about the twin wizardry of Brett Rosenberg on lead guitar and Tony Goddess on bass.

Because The Rudds leave the crowd in such a fever pitch of scream-along rock god worship, I feel bad for Harris. For about sixty seconds, which is how long they take to prove that theirs is an equally intense rock god energy, just born of a different breed. The guitarists, first of all, are whirling dervishes; they don’t seem obliged to put on a good show, they are driven to do so. I’m in love with the electronic seasonings peppered throughout, and all the vocals are top notch. Songs, sophistication, insanity, and whimsy makes Harris tops in my book, but The Rudds prove too tough an act to follow and win the night.

Campaign For Real Time blasts out of the starting gate tossing boulders—this ain’t no little rock fight anymore. Their set is front-loaded with their biggest hits. “Something Is Wrong” and “In Your Dreams” brutally build a convincing argument of why this band of android time-travelers should win this event. They’re a mish-mash of big bottom rhythms, synth sounds, semi-raps, and multiple crisscrossing vocals. After dragging a girl on stage to dance with him, Lee “Big Game” Bronson crowd surfs the room, looking confident.

The Rudds launch their rock counter attack, but their energy level falls short of the bar that C4RT has set. Despite the snappy jokes about a member’s labia reconstruction, Brett Rosenberg’s chicken strut ( a la Chuck Berry), Andrea Gillis in a dress (!!), J.Po’s jump-rope workout, and a flawless vocal/musical presentation, the magic that was so apparent in The Rudds semi-final set appears to have dissipated. Next to C4RT’s set, The Rudds are a traditional rock band, no matter how much they’re “keeping it non-traditional” (from their CD’s title track, “The Femuline Hang On”).

Scamper puts down their rocks and offers a peaceful settlement then guitar-whacks both opponents in the back of the head. In “Sophie” they offer photo ops for the “three guitarist stance.” In “Escaping Flatland” they execute the most precise sychronized kicks yet in the Rumble. “Wait Wait” has the catchiest country-twinged chorus of the entire night. Kay Hanley doesn’t show up for “ Barcelona ” but Stevie Nicks saves the day in “Stunner.” Their fun choreography number wraps up the night. (Please tell me Nate wasn’t shot by a jealous husband after the show—you had to be there.)

Robby Roadsteamer stands in for Rev. Glasseye (last year’s champ who is on the road) to pass the 28 year-old Rumble tiara on to the winner. It’s Campaign For Real Time, and Robby is immediately covered in a C4RT pile. These time travelers say they came back four times to win this Rumble. I’m now a believer.

Thanks go out to Shred and the Middle East for a most wonderful display of organized rock throwing with a loving, yet competitive, edge.

 

The Noise

Music New England

April 2012

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Mr Max’s Message

GLOUCESTER MA + OTHER SHOWS Hey, I have a big show coming up in Gloucester at the Dog Bar with two legends—Preacher Jack and Willie Alexander. It’s at at the Dog Bar and it’s also my CD release party for Shake! So come to Gloucester on Saturday April 14—make dinner reservations to get the best seats—the show is free. There are also two other shows I’m involved with: on April 1st (at 3pm) I’m playing with Thea Hopkins and friends … Read More >>

Message from T Max

GLOUCESTER MA Our Valentine show in February was as good as it gets. The publicity was excellent with multiple video-ettes on gimmesound.com that were basically a tour of Gloucester’s music venues and other places of interest. I spent one full day with Peter Van Ness shooting from the train tracks to Main Street with no script or rehearsals, improvising with what ever came our way. When it came time for the Valentine show, lots of people showed up for dinner … Read More >>

MR. MAX’S MESSAGE

I have to thank Brian Owens at Metronome for putting me on the cover of his fine magazine that does a great job of covering music from New England and beyond. HAUPPAGUE, LONG ISLAND 1969 That’s me blowing the bugle for the daily raising of the flag at Botany raincoat factory. That large lawn behind me holds the secret of why I was fired from this, my first ever job. I was the janitor/gardener and I should have known that … Read More >>

Mr. Max’s Message December 2011

MR. MAX’S MESSAGE – DECEMBER 2011 GLOUCESTER I’m really liking the Dog Bar in Gloucester. I’ve taken on booking the second Saturday of each month starting in February. And that show on Februay 11th will be a Valentine’s showcase with two talented and lovely couples, Bird Mancini, and Joe & Renee of Bandit Kings. Peter and Vicky Van Ness continue to support all the Noise shows through GimmeSound.com and their marketing genius. MY GIG REPORT Before the my gig report … Read More >>

MR. MAX’S MESSAGE – AUGUST 2011

  NEW HOME: GLOUCESTER Gloucester is still proving to be a very entertaining city. There has been festivals, parades, and block parties every weekend since I’ve been here. On Wednesday 7/20 I was invited onto Local Music Seen, Allen Estes and Peter Van Ness’s TV show that features talent from the Cape Ann area. The taping was a wonderful experience. They tape a show right after mine featuring Julie Dougherty and her husband Woody (playing bass). I’m very lucky to … Read More >>

MR. MAX’S MESSAGE – JUNE 2011

NEW HOME: GLOUCESTER As I write this I am totally exhausted. The Noise has found a new home in Gloucester, Massachusetts. I’m very excited because I already know a bunch of wonderful people/musicians who live there and I’m familiar with most of the venues and cool stores. I’m exhausted because at the moment we’re still in the process of moving. And we don’t know exactly when we can move in. Luckily this current issue is a double issue (June/July) so … Read More >>

Mr. Max’s Message 05/11

MR. MAX’S MESSAGE – MAY 2011 UPCOMING GIG I’m very excited to be playing a live show that will include Why Do We Go to War? (with a new ending). The show is at the Byfield Community Arts Center on Saturday, May 21. And I’m even more exited to report that Jason Duguay of Project Sound has agreed to record the live show for a future live CD.  Anna Dagmar from New York is also on the bill. I’m on … Read More >>

Mr. Max’s Message 04/11

MR. MAX’S MESSAGE – APRIL 2011 I want to share with you some of the responses I received to Jonathan Perry’s article in the Boston Globe on the Noise’s 30th anniversary. Hey T Max, Great article in the Boston Globe. When I lived with you in 1982 (boy, were we the odd couple—me going to work in a suit and tie, dating women that tended to have or pursued graduate degrees and you getting up at noon and going out … Read More >>

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Issue 304/ September 2010

Support Local Music

JENNY DEE & THE DEELINQUENTS
American Legion Park, Georgetown, MA
8/1/10

I grew up on girl groups of the ’60s,
seeing just about every one of them at Murray the K’s shows at the
Brooklyn Fox Theatre. None of those early girl groups have anything
on Jenny Dee & the Deelinquents. Jenny is the whippinest ball of
female sweetness, wailing on every authentic-sounding tune (whether
it be a cover or an original) and shaking those hips in time, while
leading the stylized choreography. The Dee-ettes (my phrase, not theirs)
are two black-dressed gals, shimmying and shaking in mirror image, while
supplying the ever-necessary background ooos and repeated phrases. The
six-piece backing band reads like a who’s who of the Boston music
scene. They’re big on the grooves and the solos are executed
with precision. No wonder they landed an opening slot for J. Geils
and Aerosmith at Fenway Park. Their CD, Keeping Time, sounds
like a juicy bit of ’60s history, but it’s all authentic 2010 music
with a retro fit. This show is videotaped so I’ll be able to watch
it all week on my local Georgetown cable station. (T Max)

SOUND IN STONE
with SHANE HALL, SUN*DRIED ALIBI
The Spot, Providence, RI
7/30/10

Sun*Dried Alibi starts off their set
with the funky jam song “Spinning Around.” Singer Liz Keefe—whose
vocals remind me of Joan Osborne, so full-bodied, with deep emotional
undertones—steps backstage to dance as the band jams away. This is
the bass player Louis Agosto’s second show with the band. If it wasn’t
said, I never would have guessed that, because he fits perfectly. The
band plays solid rock ‘n’ roll. “State Line” slows the set
down; it is a very bluesy number. Liz gets deep down as she sings it,
her eyes closed tight. She reaches out to the crowd for support; her
face is constricted in a painful grimace, like these words are coming
from the deepest part of her soul. The band slows down, until Brendan
the drummer is the only one left playing a slow, quiet cadence. They
start adding layers, building up into “Versions of You,” as
Liz marches in place. Another jam ends their set.

Five-piece band Sound in Stone is playing
with Shane Hall (the experimental folk artist from Massachusetts, not
the banjo player from Tennessee). Sound In Stone and Shane have been
sharing the stage for a few weeks now while on a mini-tour of the East
Coast. They alternate between their songs, giving each act equal time.
Shane runs off the stage to grab a guitar, which prompts an improv song
by Sound in Stone—”This is us wasting time. This is the song
we play when we need to waste time.” Shane jumps back onto the
stage, starting off a very interesting trip. The songs at their core
are folk tunes, but at times played at almost punk tempos. I’m impressed
by Larry Wilson, who plays the keyboard, tuba and trumpet, and sings
backing vocals; one song has him doing all of it. They play an all-acoustic
version of “Stepping Stone,” which is more Sex Pistols than
Paul Revere & the Raiders. They played close to an hour. I enjoyed
it so much I am disappointed when it’s over. (Melvin O)

MUCK & THE MIRES, SPRAINED
ANKLES, THE EVIL STREAKS, THE OPIOIDS
Precinct Bar, Somerville MA
8/6/10

Here’s the scoop:
Frank Strom booked this show himself, and therefore felt it not proper
to review it himself. The clever little devil planned
to tap Nancy Neon for the job, but amidst all the hurly-burly of putting
the show together, made one tiny mistake. He forgot to tell her about
the show. This is where I come into the story—a completely anonymous stranger, plucked from the crowd and plopped in front
of a keypad. Since it is his birthday, I figure the best present I
can give Frank is writing this review and not mentioning how old and haggard he’s
looking…

The show’s line-up
may be great, but I’m just giddy from the star-studded guests in the
crowd: there’s Mr. Kenne Highland… Malibu Lou… B-Face Queer (and
he never comes out)… and Abunai!’s Dan Parmenter,
which is really weird since Abunai! is supposed to be playing up the
street at PA’s Lounge even as we speak! Maybe they broke up again.

Okay, as for the show
itself, for starters, I am confused by the first band, the Opioids.
I can’t quite figure what they have to do with Ron Howard or
the Andy Griffith Show, when clearly they are a revamped version of
the Black Mosettes! It’s former Mosettes Rockin’ Ronnie, Andy, and
Gamp with new addition (and local legend) Boby Bear on drums. Further
confusion: This is the Opioids’ first performance, but bass player Andy says it’s
his last show. Guy needs some sense slapped into him.
Not everyone can have one of the most wonderful, appealing, eclectic
bands around, go completely ignored by an ignorant public, and then
be allowed (or demanded!) to continue it under a new name. As for what
the Opioids sound like, reread the first third of the last sentence.
If this turns out to be a one-shot band… fuck it—I’m moving to
Canada.

Our second band hails
from the deep south (Maynard area, I think), where the surf-punk traditions
are as much a part of life as fried dough and the Mass. Lottery. Fronted
on vocals and twangy guitar by ex-Ghouls Night Out gal Myra, the Evil
Streaks continue that band’s mission, though slightly less surf/monster/hotrod
and slightly more punk this go round. I stress slightly, as GNO songs “Little Witch” and “Stitch
You Up” are still featured prominently. Myra is joined by the all-male
crew of John Kozik (guitar), the Rev (bass) and Sloth (drums). While
this has no relevance to the music, I must point out what an absolutely
fabulous look they’ve got going with the guys in suits and ties and
Myra in a long black evening dress. Like an Astaire & Rogers film
with a beach party soundtrack. Genius!

A lot of ink has been
spilled in the name of headliners Muck & the Mires. When you think
of how many innocent squid were inhumanely milked (or worse) in order
for praise to be written about this band, it seems like an unspeakable
crime! But then you hear them play and against all better judgment,
you realize that it’s completely justified. Tonight’s set serves
as proof—the material (“Hypnotic,” “Doreen,” and an ever-expanding
catalogue of favorites) is brilliantly written and brilliantly performed.
We all know drummer Jesse Best is the finest kind, but let’s not forget
guitarist Brian and bassist JQ are certifiably elite themselves. With
guilty conscience, I concede victory to main Muck Evan Shore and henceforth
revoke my PETA membership. Goddamn moptop bastards!

To paraphrase the late great Steve
Gerber: what do you do after you’ve just seen the best band in the
universe? You stick around for the Sprained Ankles! A tough task having
to follow Muck, but the Ankles are rousing, energetic, and nervy enough
to manage it. While not exactly sounding like them, the Ankles are definitely
spiritual brethren to Scotland’s Revillos and NYC’s Sic Fucks—the
two greatest funny boy/girl bands of the past. High praise well deserved!
It’s a patchy Ankles line-up tonight due to a few band members being
away, but they compensate with crazy drive and determination. Guitarist
Loggy is the real hero of the show, recently injuring his arm but still
playing anyway and running the sound for all the bands on the
bill! (Completely Anonymous Stranger)

LOS WÜNDERTWINS DEL RAP, JEN KEARNEY
& THE LOST ONION, LEO BLAIS
(outside) Major’s Pub, Lowell, MA
The Second Annual Uptown Lowell
Music & Arts Festival
7/24/10

This festival co-exists alongside the
Lowell Folk Festival. I arrive at the big 90-foot-square outdoor tent
and Leo Blais spots me. We get to talking and I find out that everyone
I know in Lowell is attending this show. Minutes later Leo is on the
stage with his five-piece band respectfully covering George Harrison’s
“Beware of Darkness.” The vocals are always melodic and the band
is quite enjoyable. The vibes give the band a cool sound. Guitarist
Adam Douglass may play a little too loud but he’s fresh with his lead
improvisation. “Show Me Love” gets Leo jumping, and “I Meditate
(Walking Around You Baby)” transforms from a Beatle-ish one-note bass
line to a Jimi Hendrix-like jam. They end with “Come Again,” a nice
keyboard composition that rips into an aggressive jam with screaming
theremin.

Before the next act comes on, Anne
and I head off in search of something to eat. The entire population
of Lowell is in the streets and the people-watching is extraordinary—it’s
a melting pot that would rival New York City. In our short walk we land
at Brew’d Awakenings, grab some tasty sandwiches, and take in a performance
by a guitar-playing pretty Cambodian gal folk singer accompanied by
a fiddle player. She mixes folk songs of her country with little-known
American folk songs. A few steps down the street we hear an accurate
funk rendition of “Pick Up the Pieces” with a pretty Asian woman
in the center of a crowded dance floor attracting eyes. Around the corner
there’s a Latino band singing of bullets flying around the marketplace.
The soused street crowd includes a conga line of fools loving every
drunken step. Just across the street at the entrance of Mr. Jalapeño
restaurant we hear a suave tenor voice charming the women in a true
macho Mexican style. The performer in sombrero and stylish bright blue
suit with white trim sings into Anne’s eyes, wooing her for the moment
and beyond. I catch his name etched into his bandana-like collar design—J.
Jose Solis. The street entertainment can’t get any better than
J. Jose, so we head back to our original festival.

On re-arrival Jen Kearney & the
Lost Onion is in mid-set. This five-piece plays a kind of ‘60s soulful
jazz/blues rock. They’ve got spot-on background harmonies and a flugelhorn
for extra color. The female bassist is quite the player, comfortably
moving through her tasty grooves and looking like she’s enjoying it.
Jen, the bandleader, fingers her keys like a jazz player and wails with
the vocals. The band closes their show with a decent cover of Led Zeppelin’s
“What Is and What Should Never Be.”

The next group up includes the guy
who made this whole festival possible—D Tension. His duet rap group
is the entertaining Los Wündertwins Del Rap. D and his partner Effect
are doing their final show tonight and the audience is full of their
fans donning the group’s black and white T-shirt. I said this is a
duet but there is one other person on stage enclosed in cardboard representing
a human-size boom box. On the box it reminds us to put an umlaut over
the U. Wow—I’m at a rap show and the energy level has been pumped
up. The twins quickly spit out their phases, sometimes trading off every
eighth note. They do a tune about wrestler Rick Flair and ask for audience
participation. They get a guy up to do his award-winning Mick Jagger
impersonation. Then they’re into “10 Minutes” with heavy-duty
speedy rhythmic rhymes about a guy almost caught with another man’s
wife. The audience chimes in on the phrase “Honey, I’m home!”
The big charm necklaces and special caps are brought out for their Run
DMC section of the show. There’s a guy in the audience doing authentic
’80s hip hop dancing—and it’s Jeremy Smith—a guy I met earlier
who’s involved with the Western Mass. music scene. D has to scold
the audience for requesting an overdone eight-year-old song, “They
Want Real.” Instead they do their version of Dylan’s “It
Ain’t Me Babe”—and D states that although the band is playing
its last performance, he can almost guarantee a future show because
they still have an entire unreleased album’s worth of material already
recorded. The world moves fast and this duet is just keeping in time.
See you in a couple of months at the reunion. (T Max)

THE CONCORD BALLET ORCHESTRA PLAYERS, GOLIATH, SOMETHING LIKE BANTER,
THE INVISIBLE HOURS
AS220, Providence, RI
7/31/10

I arrive at AS220 not
knowing what to expect. I have been dragged here by a friend who wants
to check out the bands and peek at the new art up on the walls. I stop
at the bar for a drink when I hear things getting started in the next
room.

Rushing over, I find
the Invisible Hours have taken the stage. There is a small crowd scattered
around the room as they launch into the first song, a mellow, mid-paced
rocker with good hooks and nice guitar work at the end. They hit a rough
spot starting their second song but keep moving on. I am impressed by
their sound. The drummer is steady, the bass parts are more complicated
than anything I have heard live recently, and the guitar is both atmospheric
and gritty. Every song is good and has a consistent 1960’s vibe. The
guitar player excitedly stumbles around his space on the stage. The
crowd is into it and someone is videoing them. They are certainly worth
three of the six dollars I spent to get in.

Up next is Something
Like Banter, a solo performer who has set up two computers and a keyboard
on a table in front of the stage. He begins what feels like a lecture.
Ten minutes of talking goes by before he starts his first song as films
are projected on the stage behind him. He creates loops with a keyboard
and continues adding layers as the song progresses. After the song he
continues his “lecture.” The guys in the sound booth look annoyed.
During his next song the gallery lights are slowly turned on in one
part of the room to reveal someone sleeping against the wall. Not only
has he wasted half of his set talking but he has put people to sleep.

Next, someone takes
the stage and begins unpacking a guitar, setting up a pedal board, and
turning on a laptop. This is the solo act Goliath. He begins an instrumental
that picks up where the previous act left off, creating loops and building
layers. The audio is poor. It sounds like a click from a bad cable gets
mixed in with a loop and as the layers build the sound gets muddy. He
catches a groove and begins to jerk his shoulder in time. I turn around
to see three guys in the sound booth mimicking the dance. The remaining
crowd seems disinterested.

Finally, the Concord
Ballet Orchestra Players take the stage. There are two keyboard players,
a guitarist, someone playing a theremin, and a drummer. Fast projections
start on the screens behind them as they vault into a noise jam. After
the first five minutes I’m not sure what to think until they begin
to hone in. By mid-set any doubt begins to subside as I feel teleported
to a show in 1960’s Cambridge. Sadly, this feeling begins to wane
as the keyboard player at the front of the stage begins talking/singing
(he is also the same person who napped through the second performance).
By the end of the set the remaining crowd looks restless after enduring
forty minutes of improvised sound.

The lights come on
and I finish the last of several drinks. I have spent $30 at the bar
and estimate I have earned back about $4.50 of the $6 I paid at the
door. (Heather Kilrow)

SPITZER SPACE TELESCOPE, THE
POINTS NORTH
The 201, Providence, RI
7/14/10

It takes something
incredible to leave me at a loss for words. The Points North hit me
that hard, leaving me speechless for their whole performance. They walk
out onto the very small/intimate space that has been carved out for
the performers, and surrounding them is equipment from the other bands
playing tonight. Chris North, the mandolin player, and Regina Peterson,
a flutist, share the singing duties. Regina is playing an imitation
Irish flute that has been made out of PVC piping. Evan Foundray plays
an old electronic bass synth, with a haunting sound that fills the bottom.
It is a good mix of Celtic and folk. The music is very airy; I actually
close my eyes to absorb it all. As I’m floating in my own space, the
music pulls me to the top of a huge green mountain, warm air brushes
my face, blue skies wrap around me, I have no fears, no worries, just
a strong sense of peace. I open my eyes, realizing how silly I must
look, sitting there with a childlike grin, moving my head in time, with
my eyes shut tight. I’m embarrassed being seen this vulnerable, but
not for allowing the music to touch me. I walk to the back of the room,
sit down in a dark corner, and by closing my eyes allow the newfound
tranquility to return again.

Dan MacDonald walks up to the mic,
with a harmonica hanging around his neck, an acoustic guitar in his
arms, “I’m the Spitzer Space Telescope” he says and starts
to play. His first few songs are a direct Bob Dylan rip-off, complete
with whiney incomprehensible vocals; unlike Dylan, this is annoying.
He stops, laughs, and says “I’d like to thank the two of you that
stayed.” He plays an old Irish jig that gets the crowd clapping.
Dan stops again, breaking into a pretty long-winded story that really
has no point. A few more quick Irish ditties finish up his set. He thanks
everybody again, joking that he is amazed we all stayed. Honestly, I
only stayed because it was a car crash situation. I didn’t want to see,
but I couldn’t look away. (Melvin O)

THE ADAM EZRA GROUP, KBMG
Crocker Park, Marblehead, MA
7/4/10

I round the hill up to Crocker Park
on this beautiful July 4^th and there’s some sort of a country-rock
hoedown in the midst. Now I’ve heard of Dan King the big North Shore
booker/promoter, but was this really him fronting KBMG and more than
adequately picking his six-string? And wait a second, last week
I saw a young Gloucester prodigy with a great guitarist backing her—that
same guitarist, David Brown, is on the open-air stage nimbly knocking
out the tastiest solos. He’s got this great style of using three fingers
on his fretboard while his pinky slide jumps in when needed. The result
is those unique tasty solos. Drummer Dave Matacks starts a strange transition
between two beats that leads into the band’s last number and Dan takes
over the guitar solos—he’s got that blues thang down.

WBZ’s Brian Wheeler, the host of
the festivities, jumps on stage to bring on the Adam Ezra Group. The
beautiful day is enhanced by a scenic view of Marblehead Harbor wearing
a full-crowned rainbow, and the handsome short-bearded Adam Ezra points
it out as he cranks up his rhythmic made-for-success band. Adam has
a great open presence that encourages dancing by the young kids up front.
He’s got a solid masculine voice and an outstanding band highlighted
by percussionist Turtle, who at any moment may pick up his sticks to
whack on the timbales for one fill than switch to the congas or bongos
with less than a 1/4 note between. The band melds sounds of Dave Matthews,
Bruce Springsteen, and the rhythmic side of Paul Simon. They normally
play originals but today they throw in their distinct version of “The
Weight” minus the extra vocals. As their first set ends, the sky darkens
to the contrasting background for a fireworks display over the harbor.
(T Max)

VOODOO BEVY, THE
SILKS, DENVER BOOT
The 201, Providence, RI
7/21/10

William, the singer of Denver Boot,
steps to the front of the stage area to announce “Tonight is Jessica’s
last show with us.” Jessica Cahill, the band’s saw player, nods
her head to the crowd as she takes her seat. Chris Owens stands at the
ready with his mandolin. Alex Garzone from Voodoo Bevy is sitting in
on the drums tonight. The first few songs are safe, standard classic
country tunes. “Namesake” changes all of that—it is a wild
almost bipolar song that jumps into up tempos, slows drastically, and
ends on a slow somber tone. It sets up the country waltz “Losing
Faith” perfectly. The band fades down again, leaving Chris playing
a beautiful solo on his mandolin. The solo leads into “Blackheart,”
a foot-stomping rock-a-billy singalong. The set ends with an old-fashioned
barn-stomping hoedown jam. The only things missing would be a jug and
washboard player.

TJ Kelly, singer and guitarist of the
Silks, walks up to the mic wearing a solid white tuxedo jacket, with
a black bow tie, and solid black pants. Above his head is a mini disco
ball that is sending shards of refracted light around the room. He smiles,
and says”We are the Silks, and we are gonna play you some blues.”
The first note barely rings out, before TJ breaks into a feverish dance.
TJ reminds me of Alvin Lee, who is one of my favorite musicians. They
break into “Walkin’ the Dog,” which I always felt was a
pretty stale tune; I’m amazed how much life and energy they put into
it. TJ starts up a Chuck Berry walk in midsong. “I’m going home,”
he chuckles, leaving the stage still duck-walking. He makes it back
to the stage, and, laughing, he says “I can do this all night,
but you people will be tired, so we have one more for you.” “Dead
Man Blues” gets the crowd moving. TJ jumps into the crowd, grabs
a chair and watches his band play the rest of the song. The music finally
stops. The best compliment comes from the sound guy, who in a
moment of excitement yells out, “That was the most fun I’ve had.
Fucking A, that was great.” I really can’t disagree. It was a great
time.

Voodoo Bevy comes to the stage, looking
very defeated. They all look like they’d rather be somewhere else. Keith
McCurdy, the singer, has a weird effect on his voice. It makes all of
his vocals sound like a mosquito. The drums are way too loud, overpowering
everybody else. The music is a decent alternative pop rock, which does
dip into punk and doom rifts at times. Eric, the bass player from the
Silks, joins them for a song. The last song was so heavily influenced
by Black Sabbath that Tony Iommi should get a writing credit. It ends
with ear-bleeding feedback that the band leaves as they exit the stage.
(Melvin O)

BRIAN DONNELLY & JEFF SAVLON Open Mic Shindig
Gulu Gulu, Salem, MA
7/14/10

The atmosphere in the Gulu Gulu Cafe
is thick with creativity. Performers from all around the North Shore
are in attendance to put their names in the hat and try to get on stage.
So many show up that there is a lottery system for the precious 30 spots
available each open mic night. Brian Donnelly and Jeff Savlon do their
best to host the mad event, keeping order while allowing everyone to
have a fun time. The open mic regulars are all mulling about talking
to each other about upcoming shows and what songs they are going to
perform this evening. The Gulu is filled to capacity as usual, with
a line out the door of those eagerly waiting to catch their favorite
performers. It’s almost reminiscent of an old vaudeville act, with
several of the regulars adding their own flair to the event, as well
as hosts Brian and Jeff keeping the night going with their own little
bits of humor and talent. The hallway to the bathroom is lined with
about 20 guitars, and every single seat in the place is taken. The staff
is hurriedly trying to fill food and beer orders as the bar is nearly
overrun with people. This is truly the best spot to be in Salem every
Wednesday night, perhaps even the whole North Shore. I’ve never seen
so much talent in one cafe at once! (Patrick Fitzpatrick)

 

CHELSEA BERRY, PETE LINDBERG
House of Blues, Boston, MA
6/24/10

There’s no charge
to walk in the front room of the House of Blues where two voices, one
of each sex, demand dominance on one mic in perfect harmony over some
guy named Jesus. It’s got the feel of an intense country hoedown.
The guy is Pete Lindberg and he’s just finishing up his set. The female
with a blond streak in her brown jaw-length hair is the 26 year-old
Chelsea Berry. She transforms the stage to her own with a wave of players
who one by one trickle up to join in. The crowded-seated audience is
activated, frequently rising to their feet with applause between songs.
Chelsea is complimented by another female voice of the cute tattooed
Evie Gariepy. Wolf Ganeddes keeps an eye on his bass charts while Pete
Copland is right on target with his drums and percussion. Last, and
most impressive, is guitarist David Brown. Anything coming out of this
guy’s Kramer Telecaster or Dobro gets my attention—he’s a master’s
master with subtle intricacy and smooth proficiency. Still, Chelsea
Barry’s belted vocals have control of this powerful blues/folk/country-rock
show. I particularly like the innovative lead into “Dangerously High”
and her duet of the bluesy “Running in Circles” with David Brown.
The bulk of her audience, from nibblings to parents, bussed down from
Gloucester for this special Boston CD release party. Her parents even
made it from Alaska. The love in the room is flowing both ways as Chelsea
continually makes note of individuals in attendance who have helped
her get to this point in her quickly rising career. Such a sophisticated
performance from a youthful talent is quite an experience.
(T Max)

GUT BUCKET, WITCH TOMB, RAMPANT
DECAY
KC’s Tap, Pawtucket, RI
7/19/10

Rampant Decay takes the stage.
The first song is old-school thrash metal. They mix death, punk, and
thrash seamlessly. Rich Horror, the singer, has the mic chord wrapped
tightly around his neck as he screams each word. At a metal show, I’ve
always found that the more fuzzy long-haired, jean-shirt-wearing pale
kids head-banging the better. Using this scale, since more than half
of the crowd is going to have sore necks in the morning, I’d say Rampant
Decay is a hit.

Witch Tomb opens with a very gothic
keyboard song. The intro leads into a blisteringly fast metal song.
The drums are loud, sounding like long machine gun blasts. If this were
a cartoon, the guitarist’s fingers would be smoking. This has the basic
building blocks that would raise mere mortals to metal god status. Then
the singer comes in, ruining it all. He either references Satan, or
point-blank yells his name, so much that it could be a new drinking
game. “Hail Satan,” time to drink. “Our Dark Lord,”
chug it down man. The intro was by far the highlight, the build up was
intense, but the problem is, it never goes anywhere after that.

The last band tonight is Gut Bucket,
which is fronted by bassist/singer Kenny Rhule, formerly of Headrot.
Ryan Weeden from the Douche Bags is the second rhythm bassist. The songs
are very heavy. Having dual bassists gives it a really cool doom
feel. One thing I think weird is that the songs seem to start and stop
at odd places. One of the songs actually make me feel like they just
started playing it halfway through it, just to see who would notice.
Another seems like an unfinished thought. The music however is very
melodic. I enjoy the set, despite the random breaks. Looking out
into the ocean off frizzy hair being flown about, I’d say the metal
kids agree. (Melvin O)

 

ILL E GAL
Upstairs Palladium, Worcester, MA
6/26/10

The upstairs of the Palladium is small
and hot. I’m already in a very foul mood, because for some reason,
I was denied a bar bracelet. I’m stone cold sober, but was seen drinking
from a Sprite bottle, and according to the door man since he couldn’t
verify that the bottle only contained soda, so he had to “protect
me.” So now I’m crammed in a very small area, with about 200 overweight
men, mostly shirtless, all sweating, wearing the face paint of their
favorite psychopathic artist, and I’m beyond thirsty. Every few minutes
a new Juggalo chant starts up, everybody is jumping around, getting
rowdy, and I’m not the happiest of campers to say the least.

The lights drop out, as a deep-bass-filled
drum loop fills our ears. From the darkness walks out this small girl
using a green bandana as a shirt, with huge bug-eyed sunglasses, and
a head full of green and white dreadfalls. Ill E Gal tells everyone
that she is so happy to be playing the Palladium for the first time.
Her set consists of several danceable hip hop tracks, with catchy beats,
and singalong lyrics. Her little nasally vocals fill the room, as she
sways back and forth across the stage. Every few songs, a friend joins
her on stage, lending a nice melodic background to the hooks. She has
the crowd jumping, singing along, and shaking their sweaty asses off.
After her set, she jumps off the stage into the crowd to sign autographs
and talk to fans.

I had just about forgotten how thirsty
I was during her performance; she kept the show moving along, opening
the club up for Axe Murder Boyz and Blaze Your Dead Homie to kill it.
Which they did. (Melvin O)

 

THE INCREDIBLE CASUALS
The Beachcomber, Wellfleet, MA
8/8/10

It’s always fun taking the short
hop down to the Cape to visit the Beachcomber, especially when it’s
to see a band that has played there for the past 30 years! I kid you
not. The Incredible Casuals are on stage when Anne and I finish our
tanning down on the beautiful Atlantic Ocean beach and head up the 200
foot sandy cliff. I spot the back of drummer Rikki Bates’ dress through
the rear window as we hustle to get inside the club before “Picnic
Ape” is done. “Picnic Ape,” the band’s second vinyl single was
one of my favorite songs when it was originally released in 1982. I
notice the sound guy is doing a lot more playful mixing than normal
and find out that he’s mixed the band more times than he can count.
Guitarist John Stampinato (from NRBQ) is stage left in his Hawaiian
style shirt and offers the more gruff vocals. Stage right is guitarist
Aaron Spade (the new guy in the band—he joined in ’88) dawning shades
and a necktie and has a sweeter tenor. Center front is Chandler Travis
the class clown with more emphasis on class than clown. They roll through
originals and covers while the audience dances to every song. The look
of the place in some way reminds me of the Beatles playing the Cavern
with everyone boppin’ up and down—only this place has sand on the
floor and the sweet fragrance of summer sweat. When the band takes a
break they are treated like rock stars with everyone wanting to say
hi and share their “Incredible” stories. It’s an honor to witness
these four musicians deliver this incredible feat. (T Max)

JOE FLETCHER, CAROLINE HECHT, BRIAN MINTO
Tazza Caffe, Providence, RI
6/23/10

Joe Fletcher of the Wrong Reasons opens
up this installment of the Whiskey Girl Wednesday Showcase. He
walks onto the stage dressed in dark denim clothes and pointed leather
boots, armed with just his acoustic guitar. He instantly owns the room,
even before the first hauntingly soulful words leave his mouth. After
a handful of solo material, a special guest, Lily Costner, joins him
on stage. Lilly’s performance of “Every Heartbroken Man”
leaves me stunned. Her vocals are so full of sadness that it is incredibly
moving. Chris Owens hops up next; he comes and goes throughout the night
bringing either a fiddle or a mandolin to the stage. Joe’s set ends
with Brian Minto joining in, blasting away on his harmonica in an impromptu
jam that fills the room with a warm energy. People are up and dancing.

The very petite and pretty Caroline
Hecht walks onto the stage wearing a sundress and a large electric guitar
strapped across her chest. Her Joni Mitchell-esque vocals float through
the air in a very depressing manner. She jokes that she is trying to
get all the depressing songs out of the way early. Eric D joins her
with smooth lines on his standup bass, but the tone of the songs never
changes. The crowd slowly grows restless, and at times is louder than
the band. I give Caroline credit for never once swaying from her set
list—she just keeps plugging away.

Brian Minto storms the stage looking
like a deranged Muppet. A tight bandana barely holds back his overflowing
head of hair, and the bushy beard is reminiscent of a young Jerry Garcia.
He is thrown a quick roadblock when his very first strum breaks a guitar
string. He laughs it off, saying, “I don’t need that, do I?” He
opts to change guitars entirely after a few failed chord changes. Brian
gives a few quick strums on the new guitar, then stops, smiles at the
crowd, and explains how tonight he wants to interpret the progression
of a relationship through song. He plays a few more bars, stops for
a second to explain the natural progression is you meet someone, you’re
happy in love, then when things start to go bad you have to kill them.
Once Brian starts going, he is on fire. His set is short, but he definitely
raises the energy level.

Joe Fletcher’s second set starts
out with Chris Owens on mandolin, and Alex Garzone on drums. This set
rocks—the songs are faster than in the first set, and the players
build off one another with intensity. Every special guest crams onto
the small stage for the finale, “Too Many Doors.” It’s an audience
favorite and they keep singing the catchy chorus, even after the band
has stopped playing. (Melvin O)

LIGHTNING BOLT, WHAT CHEER?
BRIGADE
The 201, Providence, RI
7/26/10

The lights are down in the 201, as
I try to make my way to the stage. It is so dark I can barely see the
people standing around me. Someone starts yelling to my left, as I turn
my head to see what is going on, a trumpet explodes in my right ear.
Dead Chop Chop, the person yelling, is one of the percussionists of
What Cheer? Brigade, wears a hooded mask as he leads an almost endless
marching band through the crowd. I try counting how many members and
come up with 17, but it is impossible to say for sure, since none of
the band stands still for longer than a second. The crowd looks so tribal,
the way they move around, it looks like a collective orgasm brought
on by the music. The band’s tempo is very fast: it’s punk rock played
by a marching band. The only words are what ever Dead Chop Chop
happens to yell into the crowd and he is constantly yelling. I’m
not sure exactly what he is saying, but it brings the frenzy further.
The band is running in and out of the crowd, forcing us to participate.
A trombone slide is inches from my nose, as Samantha the cymbal player
launches herself into the crowd, creating a mini slam dance pit. Annelise,
a bass drum player, starts crowd surfing standing on her drum, never
missing a beat. Neil, one of the trumpet players, is switching dance
partners with every blink of the eye he has some one new. The music
stops abruptly, I am soaked with sweat, and welcome this break between
bands to get some air.

I walk back in during Lightning Bolt’s
second song. I am surprised to see that it is just two guys. Brian Chippendale
plays the drums and provides the vocals, with Brian Gibson playing a
bass strung with banjo strings. Brian’s vocals are on a distorted
delay and the music is very early Godflesh with a healthy dose of the
early pop side of Nine Inch Nails. The bass is the standout driving
force of each song. The banjo strings, definitely give the music a distinct
sound. The bass is very wild over the mechanized industrial drums; the
delayed vocals are very spacey. All the parts seem random, almost ill-fitting
at times, but work as a whole.

Outside the club, Dead Chop Chop is
hosting a drum off, between random people on the street. A few people
stop to drum their hearts out, the crowd judges them with cheers. It
comes down to a battle of two cities, Providence vs. Boston. A final
drum off is needed to decide who wins the title of best street drummer.
Boston does her best, but Providence takes the title. Dead Chop Chop
thanks us all, saying the cops have been nice to let us hang and have
fun, but it’s time to go home.
(Melvin O)

 

ERIN HARPE & THE DELTA SWINGERS
American Legion Park, Georgetown, MA
8/15/10

Missy Erin Harpe done this here show
by her lonesome many moons ago and I was rightly dumbfounded by the
old musics she’d done recrated. Was she really birthed in the back
of a Mississippi delta shack? Since then she be vibratin’ with
the D-Swingin’ bass man Jim, Rosey suckin’ mouth harp, and keepin’
time Bob. It’s a perty day and the four of thems is loungin’ on
the outdoor wooden shed, ’cept for Rosey who just gotsta stand. The
mixin’ of the sounds through the e-lectronic speaker system is just
ear pleasin’ as a whippoorwill, an’ I come to expect that from dear
Henry (More Sound Company of Jaffrey, NH—he done asked fer that there
plug). Missy Erin be firmly singin’ an’ twangin’ the ol’ style
finger pickin’ her daddy done taught her. Her cowboy boots er bouncin’
and her polka dots dance with every breeze as the boys make rhythm to
Memphis Mini’s “Be My Chauffeur.” The sexual finesse stays proper
to this gatherin’ of child to granmammy. But I reckon Miss Erin could
swell up a tidal wave if she beed desirin’. Keepin’ time Bob’s
backgroun’ singin’ hits the head whether he be manly or pretty soundin’.
Offstage Bob has a mind to humor me, sayin’ he plays in Likewhip—we’re
not as good as Lovewhip. I be explainin’ Lovewhip is here Miss Erin
and Mr. Jim’s e-lectronic booty boundin’ bumpin’ music band. The
Delta Swinger gang snaps out a Lovewhip of “Vertual Booty Machine”—only
they done bluesified it. Before “Fishin Blues” Erin claims she came
to realize the song meanin’ was ’bout equal rights of each here
sex to go fishin’, but never knowed what fishin’ was ’bout when
her daddy done taught her the tune—remember she was still on his knee.
I still recon it’s all too fishy for me to be figgerin’. I just
like the dancin’ polka dots and the way the Swingers crank like my
pappy’s pappy. Y’all come back now. (Timmy Max)

DEATH BY FAME, THE ICE CREAM TRUCKS, THE NORTH LOT, MARK MANDEVILLE
& RIANNE RICHARDS, JOHN COLVERT
Weekly Dig Showcase
Harpers Ferry, Allston, MA
6/30/10

John Colvert starts up the night. Tonight
feels like a lazy summer evening, but John and his band waste no time
diving right into their set which is heavily dosed with Americana and
folk influences. His songs are poignant and his delivery is sincere.
He’s backed by a great band that features Noel Coakley, a prominent
member of the New England Americana scene and a newcomer on drums, Rick
Cranford. Rick, from Seattle, Washington, recently relocated to Massachusetts
and holds his own quite nicely up to this stellar line-up of musicians.
John Colvert and crew set the stage and raise the bar high; it’s going
to be a great night.

John Colvert wraps up his set and the
duo of Rianne Richards and Mark Mandeville takes the stage. Though this
couple is essentially two thirds of the band the Accident That Led Me
to the World, it is clear tonight they do not represent that entity,
playing more traditional bluegrass, folk and blues. Donning an acoustic
guitar, a ukulele and a small flute, the music is beautifully intimate
and sparse. The room is quiet as the pair amazes the crowd with their
exceptional harmonies and melodic reach. It’s a lovely set, but by
the end, I’m ready for some heavier, louder music. Fortunately, the
North Lot complies.

They put together a raucous set that
features the theme to That ’70s Show as a cover as well as a mashup
of modern-day rap songs set to a fun funky beat, delivered with an in-your-
face attitude which to be honest, nails it. It’s a great set, and
even though it’s a Wednesday night, the crowd is starting to loosen
up and get into it.

The Ice Cream Trucks is a band relatively
new to the Boston scene. Tonight they drove up from the South Shore
ready to hand out treats top all the kids. Fortunately their tunes aren’t
cold but red hot and very refreshing. Easily, the most eclectic group
of the night, the line-up of the Ice Cream Trucks consist of a mandolin,
xylophone, acoustic guitar and various percussion, the most prominent
of which is a cahone drumbox. The band does and amazing version of Dinosaur
Jr’s “Feel the Pain” and the crowd clusters in towards the stage
to check out this unique line-up. Singer Jimmy Talbot does an excellent
job belting out tune after tune. This is a band to watch.

Closing out the night is Death by Fame,
who won the “honor” of headlining on a Wednesday night. These guys
take it in stride and put on a dazzling show of Green Day meets AC/DC
rock ’n’ roll. They have it all: an energetic stage show, a look
that is professional but at the same time cutting-edge as well as songs
with memorable hooks and catchy choruses. But best of all, this power
trio even has what most bands only dream about: hot girls watching them!
A note to the beautiful brunette in the skin-tight white mini dress:
my friend Tim wants your number. (Kier Byrnes)

JAY ALLEN & THE ARCH-CRIMINALS, THE FURIOUSITY
Baseball Tavern, Boston MA 7/9/10

Typically, there’s some doubt and
suspicion about the first band, resulting in the typical audience reaction:
they ignore them! But in one of the quickest turnarounds I’ve ever
witnessed, the Furiousity makes some converts after only about two songs.
The lowdown is simple—it’s four girls and one guy, a handful of
chords, and a whole lotta tempo and volume. Alternate description: the
Dead Kennedys with female vocals. And such vocals they are! Quivering
and shivering with vibrato, it’s very nearly yodeling! They also bring
youth to the table, which always benefits punk rock by adding energy,
sincerity and belief in the form. There is one funny bit of incongruity,
though: while the Furiousity sound very angry, on the other hand, you’ll
find them selling homemade stuffed animals at their merch table! Favorite
new band for sure.

Next on the hit list are Jay Allen
& the Arch-Criminals, adding a little creative diversity to the
otherwise full-tilt punk rock conventions. In the Queen’s English,
that’s simply seasoning the mix with folk, garage, blues and other
musical stylings. As I’m so accustomed to Jay’s material played
solo acoustic from years of hearing it that way, it’s still a fresh
pleasure hearing it done up in full band mode. So much of a pleasure,
in fact, that one (me) wants some more of it—new songs, that is. I
can see Jay nervously looking around for a subterfuge to help distract,
and he pulls out the very subterfuginous Miss Vikki Sixx for a few cover
tunes… but this can only distract for so long. Okay, it can distract
one (me) for many years if given the chance, but I still want new songs,
dammit! Or at least some old ones I haven’t heard in awhile (“Frying
Pan Justice” for a start). (Frank Strom)

STEVE CARAWAY’s Open Mic
Dogbar, Gloucester
MA
7/13/10

The lights are low
and the Dogbar is filled with the unmistakable sound of Steve Caraway
playing his opening set. Steve is a solo power-pop artist heavily influenced
by Elvis Costello. After his set, he opens up the stage to the regular
cast of characters who show up every week for the open mic. Along with
several familiar faces, there are also the few random folks who occasionally
come from far and wide just to play at the Dogbar. It’s a night filled
with several different genres ranging from acoustic folk to the occasional
rock band and even some spoken word in between. Steve takes care of
all the equipment and sound settings, so all you have to worry about
is showing up with your instrument. The bar and patio are filled with
happy drinkers and it’s a wonderful way to spend a Tuesday evening
in Gloucester. (Patrick Fitzpatrick)

ARAB ON RADAR, TINSEL TEETH, WHOREPAINT
AS220, Providence, RI
7/10/10

This is the first sold
out show I have seen at AS220 in over 20 years. It’s way too crowded
for me, but it is quite a bill. Whorepaint comes out to destroy, wailing
away like the Swans before launching into a noise rock suicide serenade.
Whorepaint has more energy than Three Mile Island is hotter than the
sun.

Tinsel Teeth comes
out with shirts off and blood flowing. How much of the blood is real?
I don’t know. I do know they turn the room into a sweatlodge, with
ruptured eardrums and spleens. Imagine Wendy O. Williams with a Providence
noise band backing her up and you have the modern sound abortionists
known as Tinsel Teeth. A crazy good performance.

If Mother Theresa came
back from the dead, I doubt the line would be as long as it was for
Arab On Radar, and not as many people would have passed out and had
epiphanies. With singer Eric Paul looking more and more like Curly of
the Three Stooges, AOR sounds like a record skipping on the
right groove. Who knew four men in matching blue dickies with songs
about getting raped by gym teachers would write history with lightning?
An amazing, albeit brief, performance from one of the greatest Providence
bands in the history of the universe. Let’s put Mike Mountain and
Arab On Radar’s Eric on a bill together and see who is the best frontman
in New England, and who gets thrown in an asylum first. (Eric Baylies)

BABY STRANGE
Reunion Show
The Middle East Upstairs, Cambridge, MA
7/10/10

Tonight is the second
night of Baby Strange reunion shows at the Middle East Up. I don’t
think I’ve ever been this excited for a local music show—ever. This
evening, the band is playing their EP, The
Make-Out Sessions (2002) and
their full-length album Put
Out (2004) for another huge
audience. To see the excitement of the crowd both last night and tonight,
it’s obvious that this band has been sorely missed. With only two
weeks practice, Eric Deneen (lead vocals), Ryan Ennis (drums), Jamie
Brown (rhythm guitar), Tim Hare (bass), and Johnny Zaremba (“fill-in”
lead guitarist, formerly of Say When) makes it look way too easy. The
music is honest, intense, sexy and danceable. The crowd adores them
and I love what I see. I gain a new appreciation for the songs I heard
years before and I anxiously await another “reunion” show—sooner
than later. (Kathy Gaalaas)

SAM ADAMS, FLYRYDAZ, COLIN McLAUGHLIN
The House of Blues, Boston, MA
7/16/10

The long line stretches
down the street and I immediately notice it’s packed with teenage
girls waiting for a night of local rappers who are making names for
themselves on the national level. McLaughlin, a Boston University student
and pop-rapper does a short set and opens with “Back to The Wall”
and “Knockout” and plays his hit “Airplanes” to a packed house
who sing along with all his lyrics. The pop orchestration in his raps
make the songs listenable and memorable. The Flyrydaz, three local guys,
raises the energy level and again it’s cool watching three tiers of
bare legs in skirts singing the words to all the raps with their hands
collectively waving in the air. There’s a lot going on during their
set. Besides being very energetic and jumping around non-stop as they
rap and then talk to the crowd, the audience responds very well as the
excitement increases. Then the DJ du jour plays a neat re-mix cover
of “She Hates Me” by Puddle of Mudd. And the place responds accordingly.

When Massachusetts
native, 22 year old Trinity College senior Sam Adams hits the stage,
the place goes wild. Currently, Sam has the most played melodies on
iTunes and the crowd goes beserk; loudly verbalizing their anticipation
of his performance. He professionally seduces the masses with his mix
of electronic pop and hip-hop. Raps like “Coast To Coast,” “I
Hate College,” “Driving Me Crazy,” and the new tune “Jets Over
Boston,” all done with a live percussionist/ drummer and a bassist
onstage with him just keep pushing the notch even higher. And when Sam
runs around mid-set smugly smirking “Fuck the Lakers” while wearing
a number 20 Allen Celtics shirt, this local throng loves
it and screams in approval. This kid’s got a ton of talent, works
the crowd very well and he’s local and loves it. Listen to these acts—they have a lot
to say. (A.J. Wachtel)

BULLETBREED
Morey’s Tavern, Maynard, MA
6/26/10

Okay, a free two-hour
show featuring my favorite band? No fucking way do I miss this! The
band plays a two-hour mix of covers and their own material. Drummer
Bowie pounds a deafening beat for the others to follow, and fists pump
the air with every note. Lead singer Conor is a beast on the mic, and
if it weren’t for the enclosed space, the pit would be in full swing
before the third song. The crowd’s on its feet for much of the set,
shouting out songs for the band and showing much love to a foursome
that put everything they have into their music. Jeff on guitar and Naze
on bass round out the group. It’s a show that never once loses its
momentum. (Max Bowen)

MARIA MONK, CHRIS ROSENQUEST
The 201, Providence, RI
7/11/10

The 201 is very dark, a no glamour
type of club. It has a very simple set up, a bar with several unusual
beers on tap, a few tables, couches, and a great big space for the bands
to play. Tonight, it seems the bands are playing to each other, and
the few stragglers, myself included, that happen to wander in off the
street.

A very tall, skinny, bearded man walks
up to the mic. He doesn’t announce that he is Chris Rosenquest; he
just plays a quick ditty on an acoustic guitar. The small ditty starts
to play back on a continuous loop. For the rest of the show every song
starts out this way, with Chris constantly adding to the loop, until
it sounds like a full band playing behind him. He stops to tell about
the splinter that ruined his life. No matter how hard everyone tried,
they couldn’t get the splinter free from his foot. Finally, disgusted
with dealing with it, in severely disgruntled mood, he heads to the
ER. At the ER, a very burly male nurse corners him, promising if he
behaves and acts like a big boy, he will get a Dora the Explorer sticker.
As the laughter dies down, Chris breaks into a beat box, this is the
basis for the last song’s loop. It builds up quickly into a song which
I can easily see would have been a dance-along if more people were there.

This is Maria Monk’s second show
ever. Pete, the bass player, and Mark, one of the guitarists, formerly
of Brother Kite, stand to the back of the stage. Christian, the lead
singer and second guitarist, stands center stage. Christian is a ball
of energy, kicking his legs, beating up his guitar, jumping around the
stage; at times he ends up several feet away from the vocal mic. The
songs are very rhythmic, the music is extremely tight. The lyrics
are definitely for the intellectual. Christian jumps back toward the
amp; as the feedback starts, he harnesses it, directs it, and integrates
it into the song. This is the best display of using feedback I’ve
heard since Neil Young’s “Arc.” “Ender’s Game” quickly becomes
my favorite song of the set. It has a very playful Modest Mouse
feel. The last song starts out fast in a massive chaotic explosion that
slowly tightens up, only to explode again, leaving Christian rocking
back and forth on the ground hugging his guitar to his chest. (Melvin
O)

OTHELLO
Shakespeare on the Common, Boston, MA
8/11/10

I am writing this review out of a sincere
love for Shakespeare. On the way to the Common from The School of Groove
in Cambridge, I saw a fellow get hit by a car on Cambridge Ave., and
get twisted into something funky, a cartoon really, but on with the
show! Thanks to J for saving me a sweet spot on the rough directly behind
the tall chair section!

Sparse staging, but visually commanding,
with a cagy box for lighting. It was modern, very functional, but visually
jarring in size and perspective to the intimate musings tucked neatly
into the play behind doors and wedded embattlements. This is probably
the first time I have ever said “Less is more,” but the colors of
cold steel and early 20^th-century military garb are becoming
an institutional yet cost-effective drag on American productions of
Shakespeare.

Desdemona, you seemed like you had
more fun as Ariel, but well-played under the given weather—those lights
are hot! You delivered baby, but that was a vanilla take on what could
have been chocolate ice cream. Your color scheme (deliberate?) visually
identifying you icily apart from others in a very Neapolitan fashion.
I have to admit I laughed aloud in your final throes of death, and I
hope you were having as much fun on the inside! You really worked to
convince Othello of your love, but alas your fate has been determined.
Bravo!

The chap who played Iago seemed a little
sullen and detached from the cunningness usually poured into the vessel
of that dagger. He seemed to inhabit the role best when that much-beloved
villain had best keep his mouth shut, superbly mimed in moments of mortal
terror following the fall of Cassio. In your more revealing moments,
the droning off-kilter pedal-point did you no help whatsoever. I found
that the better played Rodrigo seemed to rush an attempted brooding
Iago; have fun with those dynamics! The (accidental?) stutter in the
second act could have been played up to a superb suit-insulated stammer.
It made me think though, by coming off so squeamishly, Othello’s presence
and temper rang out with greater definition by comparison, thoughts?

Othello, you picked up a considerable
amount of steam and respect from both the audience and your crew proportionate
to the amount of energy you delivered to the performance. Your early
hints of a raging Calibanesque Othello got me thinking, but you were
too busy playing nice at court. Your relative soft-spokenness in the
first act later was balanced by some adrenaline fueled moments, like when
you patiently wheeled your sleeping wife to her birdbath of doom. I was
going to say this about Desdemona, but she was asleep during your most
intimate proscenium moments with her: the lack of romantic sparks seemed
to be from thy issue General. At ease man! (Trevor Doherty)

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Music New England

April 2012

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Silver Circle Reviews

TIM MUNGENAST & HIS PREEXISTING CONDITIONS
(aka TIMWORLD)
Goat River Productions
Dhoom
12 tracks
This is the fifth CD of off-kilter rock-jazz-psychedelia-what-have-you from Mungenast and his talented sidemen, Michael Bloom (bass) and Jon Proudman (drums). The album consist, not of endlessly rehearsed, conventionally constructed songs; instead, the trio’s methodology mostly seems to consist in selecting a motif, then seeing how far they can carry it forward. It’s a series of live performances, warts and all, some of which are astonishing. In particular, the opening track “Dhoom,” reminds me, in intuitive ways, of “East-West” by the Butterfield Blues Band—accomplished raga-rock of the highest order. “Space Goat” is an interesting throwaway number which opens with a cranky clangor that devolves into a theme song about “a goat who fights crime in outer space.” (Nowadays, one sign of truly eccentric art is how resistant it is to being co-opted and mass-marketed. I don’t suppose we’ll be seeing this one on Nickelodeon any time soon.) “Cerulean” is a minimalist bass-heavy song-fragment with subtle percussion and a languorously convoluted guitar line. “Making Scary New Gods Out of Corn Husks” is another bass-pulsing bit of minimalism with time-warped and monumental guitar, and electric cello courtesy of Karen Langlie; you might describe it as music on a low simmer. “Spinach (Is Grown in Sand) is an oldie—a truly odd space-chantey with tumbledown bass, wistful backup vocals (courtesy of Kelly Godshall, of Amber Spyglass), and psychotronic guitar which distends out into a juddering finale. “Karen Lost in Middle Earth” is an extradimensional instrumental fragment teased through with liquescently dripping guitar and electric cello. “Mersault’s Blues” is quite possibly the most conventional track on here: a lovely vocal melody accompanied by a counterintuitive but equally lovely guitar line which sporadically bursts into a microcosm of chaotic psychedelia, with all the complex musical values of a jazz unknown and hitherto unheard.      (Francis DiMenno)

DARLING PET MUNKEE
Glows in the Dark!
7 tracks
Another brilliant concept band from the brains of concept meisters Michael J. Epstein and Sophia Cacciola along with Axemunkee’s Catherine Capozzi, who is continually pushing the envelope of how a guitar can sound. The idea was derived from ads for living squirrel monkeys and a play on the names of the bands the three are currently involved with. The result is a futuristic sci-fi surf extravaganza, which conjures Saturday afternoon creature features and late night comedy bits from an episode of The Ghoul. While the titles and the concept itself may seem a little kitschy and cute, the music is well thought out and evokes a panorama of moods and shades of dark and light. Michael, Sophia, and Cathy are easily some of the most gifted and innovative musicians in this town and everything they’ve done has been worth checking out. This combination of musical minds melds so seamlessly. I can’t recommend this album or band more highly. (Joel Simches)

VARIOUS ARTISTS
Under the Influence
12 tracks
Any time homage is being paid to some of rock’s biggest names, one knows it is going to be an amazing effort. In fact, the brilliance of Under the Influence is that it spotlights Berklee students and alumni. The collection is impressively vast, ranging from renditions of seminal bands such as the Pixies, Mission of Burma, Hüsker Dü, and Gang of Four, to the more modern tunes popularized by Green Day and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, to name a few. The disc opens with Julia Easterlin’s striking interpretation of the Pixies’ “Break My Body.” A powerhouse vocalist, her rendition is bold and emotive, while Da’Rayia’s “Give It Away” (Red Hot Chili Peppers) is positively funky and quite the departure from the soft-spoken sounds of Easterlin, but such is the beauty of a compilation of this magnitude. Admirers of Billie Joe Armstrong and company will delight in the Boston Boys featuring Emily Elbert’s “Welcome to Paradise” (Green Day), while David Pramik’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” (U2) must be heard to be believed. Pramik’s soulful interpretation is just that good. On the whole, Under the Influence is a testament to the talent and skill within the Boston music scene. The album deserves a careful listen, if not for the wide variety of artists covered, then for the artistic liberties taken and the boundless creativity that the students and alumni exhibit throughout. (Julia R. DeStefano)

BILL GOFFRIER & SAUCER
Homebound Records
The Saucer Years
6 tracks
This record is pretty much what you would expect to get out of an outfit that includes members of both Big Dipper and the Del Fuegos. The songs are reminiscent of classic ’80s indie pop: heavy on the melody, but never sounding wimpy. Some songs have a hint of early R.E.M. twang, while the more fuzzed out numbers recall the Cars if that band had more guitar and less keyboard. The songs occasionally showcase a bit of humor, and they always show a real dedication to song-craft. While there is nothing here that amazes, it’s still a pleasant listen that does nothing to detract from the band members’ legacies. (Kevin Finn)

BILLY SHAKE
Crashing Down
11 tracks
Billy Shake is a band built around the songwritings of George Simpson, who is also the vocalist. At times Simpson channels Lou Reed filtered through Mark Knopfler and Warren Zevon. Simpson’s lyrics are cynical and ironic, roadworn, yet bemused. The music and vibe of this album might suggest an older audience, but has a rebellious nature and forces you to listen to it on its own terms, without preconception or bias. Delving deeper into the album reveals lush arrangements, stark acoustic mood pieces, casual bluesy grooves, and good ol’ fashioned rock ’n’ roll. I’m admittedly not a huge songwriter fan. What so many songwriters lack in dimension is beautifully illustrated here. The layers aren’t forced and the production has plenty of teeth, rather than a hollow sheen. I entered a skeptic and left a fan. (Joel Simches)

ALEX RAZDAN & THE A-TRAIN ORCHESTRA
ASR Records
Two-Timin’
14 tracks
Big band swing revivalism had a brief vogue in the late 1990s, but, insofar as the music and its tropes are timeless, this is a pleasant outing, with the expected assortment of cabaret numbers (a nuancical rendition of Kurt Weill’s 1938 classic “September Song”); early rock-era mainstream pop (“Sleepwalk” by Santo and Johnny); and bluesy classics (“Backstroke” and “Pinky”), with proto-rock standards such as “Looking Back” mixed in. The performances here are the polar opposite of moribund—they are executed with both clarity and panache, heard perhaps nowhere better than on “Cloudburst,” an instrumental version of the amazing 1959 Lambert, Hendricks, & Ross smash hit. The A-Train Orchestra’s rendition is bursting with an explosive, propulsive vigor which further exalts the already admittedly spectacular and incomparable original. Highly recommended. (Francis DiMenno)

TWO VIEW REVIEW

SARAH BLACKER
Perfectly Imperfect
6 tracks
Sarah Blacker sounds like a little bit of Emmylou Harris mixed with Regina Spektor and a smidge of Feist. This six song download lilts, tumbles and swoons along with some of the best pop acoustic music I’ve heard in a great while. With lots of hand drums, uke, mandolin, acoustic guitar and bucket of percussive toys, Blacker shifts effortlessly from one mood to the next: serious to silly, playful to introspective, mournful to hopeful. The arrangements are quirky and unpredictable, yet deliciously appropriate. The vocal harmonies are sublime. I can’t get enough of this release. Make more music soon!    (Joel Simches)

SARAH BLACKER
Perfectly Imperfect
6 tracks
Though a little shorter than her previous albums, Perfectly Imperfect, Sarah Blacker’s third trip into the recording studio, makes the most of six tracks. This new array of sound offers something different with each tune, whether it’s alternate instrumentation or a memorable vocal style. The title track, “Perfectly Imperfect,” brings a stripped-down treat for the ears, with an acoustic lead backed by finger snaps and hand claps that blend together to paint a scene of chilling on the porch in the summer sun, filling the air with some spontaneous sound. “Darling” is a more full-bodied brew, and with this tune Sarah shows what a diverse vocal range she’s built over the years, with her wide assortment of octaves making this opening number worth hearing again and again. In fact, listen to it three times. “These Summer Nights” is a track I sincerely hope I get to hear live someday. It’s so intense and melodic, and I can picture a packed club in Cambridge singing along and stomping their feet to this passionate creation. Eran Shaysh, Sarah’s touring partner, accompanies her on percussion and vocals, showing the amazing chemistry these two possess, whether it’s on the stage or in the studio. Sarah’s shown a great devotion to her craft, always giving her fans much more than their money’s worth. Perfectly Imperfect is no exception, and a great addition to any music-lover’s collection. (Max Bowen)

UNCOMFORTABLES
75 or Less Records
Across the Shields Vol. 1
10 tracks
This band is heavy, that’s for sure. So heavy they should have an umlaut in their name. Hell, they should have two. Yes, I can see the marquee now: Üncomförtables—Tonite at [insert local club name here]! All jokes aside, these guys ain’t bad. They do the whole metallicized punk-rock thing and they do it well. Grating guitars, pummeling drums, hoarse vocals, and an insatiable need for speed. They also throw a couple catchy melodies into the equation, as well. The guitar solos have a touch of blues to them with their string-bending riffage and, thankfully, don’t revolve around the dexterous yet utterly soulless pedantry of shredding. The guitars don’t rely solely on power-chords either. There are some open-sounding suspensions strewn in between the distorted chug-a-lugging. A pleasant surprise. Think Motörhead but with a bit of ’90s pop-punk thrown in there, too. Overall, this band has exceeded my expectations. Still, it’s nothing to write home about. I’m not exactly on pins and needles waiting to hear Volume 2. (Will Barry)

AJ EDWARDS
Start Over the Moon
10 tracks
To refer to AJ Edwards as “music appreciator” would be an understatement. In fact, the emerging singer, songwriter, and guitarist cites a certain pull that he felt towards the field. It was upon witnessing U2 perform live in 2001 that the determined and newly-inspired Edwards decided that he would make music his life and began by teaching himself how to play the guitar. In just a short time, an undeniable passion for songwriting was realized, coupled with a powerful desire to share himself and his creations with the world. It is through Start Over the Moon that the potential for stardom is apparent. Edwards’ meticulously crafted blend of indie-pop is especially evident in the album’s uplifting opener, “Undefeated” as well as throughout the heartwarming “I’m Open” and the closer, “Still Life.” Such a brand calls to mind Graham Colton, Pete Yorn, and even New England’s own Matt Nathanson. It is through a relaxing, mellow vibe that Edwards delves deep into subject matter that is both playful and profound, making this effort perfect for a coffeehouse scenario or as “chill out” music after a difficult day. (Julia R. DeStefano)

DAPHNE LEE MARTIN & RAISE THE RENT
The Telegraph Recording Company
Dig & Be Dug
10 tracks
The term eclectic doesn’t begin to do this band justice. You’d probably need to find some German loanword to even come close to defining this band’s mighty amalgam of vintage musical styles. They sound, at times, like a Mexican wedding with the spurts of mariachi horns and accordion. Other times, they sound like a New Orleans funeral with the nasally wah-wah of the muted trumpet. Or, like last call at some sleazy country-western saloon with all the pedal-steel twang. The list goes on. Martin’s lilting old-timey vocals are the only constant in this ever-changing backdrop of misc-Americana. Clearly, this is a very talented group of musicians with motley musical tastes. However, the album really measures high on the ol’ hokiness meter. It’s a little heavy on the sappy sentimentality, too, if ya ask me. Still, their nostalgia for the music of the good ol’ days is kinda nice in a wholesome sit-on-grandpappy’s-lap sort of way. (Will Barry)

DANIEL OUELLETTE & THE SHOBIJIN
Meanie Jeanie Records
The Enchantment (Songs to Sing Whilst You Sharpen Your Pencil)
11 tracks
When I listen to the opening track, “There Is a Wolf In California,” I think of how, in the mid-1970s, Bryan Ferry and David Bowie made much of this type of exaggerated cabaret rock. It’s certainly innocuous enough, though throughout the synth-slathered proceedings I’m also thinking that die-hard meat-and-potatoes rockers might find the whole experience more than just a bit fey. “I Want! (That Superman Song)” features lyrics that are witty in a densely camp way, while the synth-and-percussion based instrumental is equally clever. Among the more conventional songs, “Te Odio” is particularly appealing and notable. But it’s not all fun and games: “Out By Assawompsett” is a seriously twisted bit of weird, commemorative melodrama. I am hearing the songs on this album as falling midway between the balls-out garishness of the B-52s and the mumbling consequentialities of early REM. On the whole, this is also a bit like the Cramps for die-hard aestheticians—as though, instead of the Green Fuz and the Legendary Stardust Cowboy, the Cramps took Was/Not Was and Georgio Moroder as their weirdo role models. This is a hitherto under-explored back alley of the rock genre, which is not so much to say it is original than that it is oddly idiosyncratic, boldly off-kilter genre clowning. It’s odd in an oddly familiar way, and I can imagine that a lot of people who treasure up the offbeat, the one-off, and the unusual getting an enormous kick out of many of these strangely appealing tunes. (Francis DiMenno)

THE THROWDOWN BAND
Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
9 tracks
The Hendrix influence is huge here: whether it’s Stan Blues Jr’s screaming guitar solos or the arrangements in the songs themselves, where each tune starts out with soaring guitar work setting the groove. The big difference here is in Eric Savoie’s gruff and growling voice; this man can sing and his powerful heavy metal/blues delivery is both captivating and memorable. Songs like “The Day Love Dies,” “Dogs of War,” and “Sexy” are similar to Robin Trower ballads but more contemporary and better. They end the CD with a cover of “Voodoo Child” done differently, not note-for-note, but just as psychedelic. PLAY THIS CD LOUD. (A.J. Wachtel)

BAR SINISTER
Intense Human Victories
Great Satan
4 tracks
For the most part, Bar Sinister’s blend of dark, metallic post-hardcore works quite well. The intense but sparse instrumentation packs quite a punch while leaving an appropriate amount of breathing room. The music is moody and atmospheric, and the band is smart enough to know that occasionally taking things down a notch makes the intense parts sound even more furious. Unlike most punk-influenced bands, Bar Sinister isn’t afraid of stretching out; the four-song EP approaches twenty minutes long. The only real weak point is the singing. Over the first half of the EP, the vocals are fine, recalling J. Robbins from Jawbox: intense but melodic. Over the second half, though, the singing too often devolves into a rather tuneless cracked screaming. By the end of the EP, it has worn a bit thin. That said, there is still much worth recommending here. (Kevin Finn)

HOOKERCLOPS
I No Bueno!
13 tracks
Listening to Hookerclops makes me wanna snort a bunch of Adderall, shotgun a couple beers, and roam the moonlit city streets raising all kinds of hell. If you haven’t guessed already, subtlety is not one of this band’s strong suits. Writing rowdy punk songs, however, and pumping them full of ball-busting blues-rock riffs is. You gotta love their proto-punk primitivism, testosterone-fueled guitar, tag-team, rock ’em sock ’em drumming, and low-down skulking bass-lines, not to mention the absurdist sense of humor of the lyrics and their guttural vocal delivery. I mean c’mon, a one-eyed prostitute with lobster claws for hands? You can’t make this stuff up. Oh wait, yes you can. Their music speaks to the caveman in me that wants only to fight, feed, and, well, ya know—fornicate. No ego or super-ego to be heard on this album. It’s nothin’ but id on overdrive. (Will Barry)

THE SPACE SHARKS
The Space Sharks
9 tracks
The Space Sharks bring the big, loud guitars on this updated take on psychedelic-tinged classic rock. They’re not reinventing the wheel, but by no means are they pretending to. The band is technically quite proficient with Lonnie Richard’s guitar playing, flashy without being ostentatious, and Mike Martino’s dexterous fills providing most of the highlights. The production is excellent throughout, giving the record that live feel that is so often hard to create in a studio environment. At times, the listener is best off ignoring the lyrics, which can get a little flower-child goofy, and the distorted vocal effect on “Some Fantastic” is completely unnecessary. Overall, though, the Space Sharks have put out a lively, enjoyable record. While the band probably would have fit in better forty years ago, the emphasis on skill over preciousness will provide a welcome respite to those turned off by the overly mannered style of much of what is currently considered hip. (Kevin Finn)

GRAND EVOLUTION
Collide
4 tracks
Sarah Kenyon has a sweetly emotional voice, and this four song sampler serves up an ingratiating dose of transparent pop, from the kiss-off of “Sweetheart” to the melodramatically evincing “Forget You” with its bursts of double-tracked roundelays, and from the keening, chiming dynamics of “Goodbye” to the incandescently hook-laden “Better Off.” On the whole, a promising debut. (Francis DiMenno)

SATELLITES FALL
Midday Records
Line on the Road
5 tracks
Ever hear a song that you feel this insatiable need to run through a few times? That’s what hit me right off the bat as I listened to Satellites Fall’s EP, Lines on the Road. For this album, you’ll want to let this run on repeat, and trust me when I say that it’s time well spent. Lines on the Road has superb production value, with some added effects that enhance the strengths of the band. Influences like Oasis and U2 are cited, and while I can hear hints of these musical greats within this album, Satellites Fall clearly has the strength to stand on their own, taking a few lessons but incorporating plenty of their own material into the final product. Vocalist/guitarist Mark Charron brings some serious singing chops to this EP, supported and strengthened by Brian Bardsley and Davey Moore on guitar and Luke Riskalla on drums. “The World Outside,” my top pick of the EP, adds in some experienced piano playing courtesy of Charron. It’s easy to envision this alt-rock band playing to a crowd of thousands, but this is hardly the typical pre-packaged arena rock we’ve all heard a thousand times before. It’s got an easy versatility to it that fans from different genres can come together and appreciate. And I imagine that plenty of them will. (Max Bowen)

PAUL TAIT
Mixing My Emotions 1995-2010
10 tracks
Paul has been performing for decades, both onstage in theatrical productions and as a solo pianist/singer/ songwriter. This is a compilation of songs recorded over a 15-year period. If you are a fan of Elton John’s power ballads from 1972-1975, you are going to really like these songs. While the production of these tunes hasn’t aged as well as the songs (right at the beginning of the home studio boom), Tait performs them with an earnest passion and relentless sense of melody. I easily could see any one of these songs playing over the end credits of some summer blockbuster, or romantic comedy. Get on that, will ya, Paul? This is not for jaded indie rockers. It’s not for the emo crowd or the punk crowd. It is for the heart on the sleeve hopeless romantic. I dare you to listen to this and not feel moved. (Joel Simches)

JAPANESE MONSTERS
Bleeps, Sweeps, Creeps
6 tracks
This cool product—a red flash drive with a rotating metal protector for the USB jack—is loaded with synth sounds that made me smile. “Theme From a Norwegian Western” had a big phat bass synth beeping’ along to a disco beat with an opening lead synth melody that reminded me of the Dr. Who theme song. Everything was groovy until the vocals entered—they were either not loud enough or too loud depending on your aesthetics. “Animal” follows with another disco beat but flounders around too much—then those same vocals enter. Maybe they take some getting use to. “The Shore” gives more luscious synths—yeah! Oops, those vocals interrup my smiles again. I’m really trying to like them. (T Max)

SHV
Hexagon Records
Scene Ripper
4 tracks
What do dance music and underground noise have in common? Usually not much. Alley Dennig, aka SHV from Providence, takes any preconceived notions you may have and rams them down your pipe. You can groove to a couple of these songs. The others are more like Eno’s Music For Films than say Unicorn Hard On or Donna Summer. You can dance if you want to, you can leave your friends behind, but if you listen to SHV you’ll get a bloody nose, and like it. Music for dungeons or Studio 54, whatever mood you happen to be in. (Eric Baylies)

ROTARY CLUB
Woodside Records
Second Year In Swine
12 songs
Tom Devaney (ex-Bulkhead) fronts this exemplary combo, whose take on rock music is a must for anyone who cares about a non-heritage direction for a sadly battered form. The opening salvo, “Get a Room,” is tuff-sounding sideways rock ala late Beefheart or Ubu (not too surprising—Tony Maimone produces and contributes to the album). This track features powerful angularity yoked to a spacy undertow. The remainder of the album is very much in the same primo mode; it often sounds like rock transmitted from a slightly different parallel realm, with counter-intuitive melodies and instrumentations which provide a sonic palette that isn’t simply more of the same-old same-old. Overall, the production values provide beautiful compression in these valleys of passion. On “Union?”, foreshortened riffs serve as a talisman against the void; pleasantly hectoring offside hooks evoke buried intensities. The lush textures on “Millie’s Variety” provide continuous soft hits to the brain which prove that anyone can grow up to be prescient. “Kidney Stone” is a brilliantly warpo bit of bent liquescent kosmik folk pop. “Multicolored Rings” is a shamanistic dive into some lunatic pool of slow-motion extasis. The title track evokes a mythic city in which the Let It Bleed-era Stones are free to pursue the psychedelic proclivities to their illogical denouement. “Capsule” is a beautifully inspired ballad that eerily crescendos into an astonishing pronunciato—an unforgettable, out-standing classic track. The second half of “Pluto” is nearly as good. The final track, “Used to Fear Math,” is a surprisingly conventional song tendering—get this—good advice! All hail King Blur! This album is utterly original and utterly solid. One of the best damn pieces of work I have heard in years, and a quantum leap from their first effort, 2007’s Vis a Vis. It ain’t your grandpaw’s rock, but it might become your grandchildren’s. (Francis DiMenno)

BITCH BROTHERS
Bitch Brothers
16 tracks
Permeating this album is a brooding and eerie post-punk atmosphere. A restrained kind of intensity that, more often than not, ends up erupting into fits of throbbing noise-heavy rage. The band’s quieter moments are typified by tender melodic bass-lines, palpable but unintrusive drumming, and a complex web of reverb-heavy guitars. Like I said, these quiet moments are usually short-lived, as the band soon goes postal in a frenzy of fuzzed-out guitars, thunderous drums, and blasts of pure noise. The vocals are half-sung, half-spoken, or sometimes just plain shouted. The recordings themselves are about as DIY as you can get, recorded by the band themselves, probably in some basement. This is Fugazi-style post-hardcore. It’s got all the fury and raw energy that typifies the hardest of hardcore with plenty of lo-fi pride and an avante-garde aesthetic. (Will Barry)

GALVANIZE
75 or Less Records
Galvanize
5 tracks
“Battleship,” the opening track to this EP, hooks me right in with its rollicking drums and dirty guitars. This song wouldn’t feel out of place on a Mudhoney or Dinosaur Jr. record. If this release had been a single, I would have given it a standing ovation. Unfortunately, there are four more tracks that never approach that high mark, and by track five, I’m throwing tomatoes at my stereo. To be fully accurate, it’s track three, entitled “Cupcake Face” that really does it for me. Is this supposed to be clever? Avant-garde? It just comes across as being less smart than its author thinks it is and makes me feel that the first track was lightning striking once. Based on the rest of the EP, I’d take my chances with winning Powerball before lighting strikes again. (Kevin Finn)

THE FALLEN STARS
Heart Like Mine
16 tracks
Originally from the Boston area, the Fallen Stars now call the West Coast home, earning themselves a wall full of awards and accolades along the way. Listening to the old-school Americana tunes of Heart Like Mine, it’s not hard to understand why, and it makes me feel lucky the band still plays in the New England area. Lead singer Tracy Byrnes has a gorgeous voice that belongs with the great female leads of her genre. Her husband Bobbo adds his own experienced vocals to the mix, along with some sweet twangin’ guitar skills that can rock the house and strum some mellow melodies with equal precision. Gary O’Yeah (drums) and Geoff Geib (keys) add their unique sounds and stories to a foursome that have created a sound that stands apart. These are the songs the survive the years, the kind you’ll hear on the radio and remember the time you saw them at a Tuesday night show with only 10 people in the audience. Tunes like “All I Want” offer the full-course music meal: pulse-pounding Americana rock, slick guitar skills and Tracy’s voice reminding you that you didn’t come here to occupy a barstool. “The Last Hurrah,” adds the elegant violin skills of Caitlin Gary to produce a song that speaks about the things that mean the most to us, despite the pain we suffer along the way. There’s plenty more stories for this band to tell. Do yourself a favor and give ’em a listen. (Max Bowen)

OLD ENGLISH
EP
5 tracks
Five scorching, largely instrumental tracks that harken back to the 80’s—when it was still okay to get wonky with your guitar. On their debut EP, Old English captures the best of guitar gods like Eddie Van Halen and Joe Satriani while leaving behind the pretense and self-masturbatory schlock. While the guitar is the clear focus for Old English, the rhythm section plays supporting its role exactly as it should—locking in and maintaining structure while the guitar freestyles on top. The two occasions where Old English chooses to go vocal add extra dynamics—a chant-y psychedelic element and Weezer-esque bombast. (George Dow)

LIVING SYNDICATION
Aneurythm
18 tracks
Ay coño, I’d sooner suffer an aneurysm than hear Aneurythm again. I bet an aneurysm would be much less painful for me. Seriously. I mean, an album is already way too long for me if it’s twelve tracks, but this goes on for EIGHTEEN excruciating tracks! They’re not short songs, either! I’m not ADD, but who the hell has that kind of attention span? I highly doubt that even this band’s fans, fluffers, and significant others do! Especially when the music is as unoriginal and done to death as this! You may as well load up your disc changer with Korn, Nickelback, Puddle of Mudd, Adema, and all that other nu-metal and post-grunge shite that most somewhat reasonable people got sick of about eight years ago, and just put that puppy on shuffle! This CD fits right in! If you just can’t get enough downtuned crunchy guitar, clenched-teeth grunge vocals, and lyrics about pain, drugs, disease, and loathing, maybe you’ll love Living Syndication. You probably also have tribal tattoos and rock a sweet soul patch. (Tony Mellor)

ELI VOYNICH MANUSCRIPT
Gross Domestic Product
Black Pageant
9 tracks
When I got the solo tape from Eli of Humanbeast, I expected harsh noise and the devil to come out of my speakers. What I got instead was chamber music for the damned. I did not expect to hear synths and organs played in a very traditional way. If you go to the Red Sox on acid, this is what the organ will sound like. This reminds me of some of the Sleep Chamber recordings. Music to fill up your tub with salt and float to. This tape defied my expectations and overwhelmed them. A very cool release from a very diverse artist. (Eric Baylies)

THE PRECIOUS FEW
New Waves
13 tracks
It says in this here booklet that this album was recorded in two different studios—quit lying, guys. Sounds like this was recorded on your old iMac with GarageBand in need of some serious updating. The production values on this CD are zilch. The drums sound canned, the guitar sounds so cheesy that they’re one step from directly recorded to the board, and the vocals sound like they’re recorded on Radio Shack mics. Now, I like “lo-fi” music if it’s got character and the songs are strong. This CD features neither. It’s bland dad-rock. Literally. It’s great to love your kids, but either keep them off the album or keep the album in the family—as in don’t release it. Don’t get me going on the identical sheep-bleats that are the two band members’ voices. Then there’s the utterly corny piss-take of “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” to make a Bauhaus fan wish these guys had never been born, let alone have a chance to be undead. Hopefully, those unfortunate enough to hear this will be a precious few. (Tony Mellor)

SATELLITES FALL
Midday Records
Lines on the Road
5 tracks
For Lines on the Road, Satellites Fall’s first official release, the band sheds some of their Foo Fighters-ish bombast in favor of subtler indie-pop. This time out, Satellites Fall let their inner Radiohead shine through. “Servitude” sets the tone with a contemporary take on the Cure and Echo & the Bunnymen. “Hold Out,” the EP’s standout track, shines with its more complex mix. Here, the drumming stands out, while the vocals show their widest range. Any time you kick Dave Grohl to the curb in favor of Thom Yorke you’ll come out on top—a fact proven by Satellites Fall with Lines on the Road. (George Dow)

 

If your act is from New England, send your CDs for review to the Noise/ T Max, PO Box 353, Gloucester, MA. If you’re not based in New England, save your postage.

If you’re sending a CD in to the Noise make sure to use our new address.
And everyone else should update our contact info too. Thanks.

T Max/ the Noise
PO Box 353
Gloucester, MA 01931
617-331-9637

 

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Officer May

by Mike Baldino

Last Week’s Minutes from the Meeting
of the Secret Society of Your Friends
Who Actually Hate You

“Being young and seeing The Year Punk Broke was huge,” says Officer May singer/ guitarist Chris Warren. “That’s what made me decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. That looked like a good career, you know, breaking shit and drinking beer in Europe and everything’s fucked up and all these people are thrashing about, and you’re failing 10th grade or whatever and are guaranteed to be a fuck-up, and these people looked like they were doing really well, and they look like fuck-ups too. Seemed like the only option. There’s been no plan B.”

When Officer May takes the stage, it’s like there was never even a plan A. Their confrontational sound combines the abrasive but catchy approach of Unwound, Sonic Youth, and particularly In Utero-era Nirvana. Officer May doesn’t deal in choreographed rock kicks. They’ve mastered the art of breaking strings, throwing instruments against walls, and making beautiful mistakes while playing with the sort of wild abandon that would make a lesser band collapse under the weight of its own intensity. Chris and drummer Jared Croteau grew up in small- town New Hampshire and have been playing together for years; Smoking in A Minor marks bassist Mike Sanders’ recorded debut with the band. “They basically called me up and told me I was playing bass,” he says. “The first time I met Mike was when I picked him up for practice,” says Chris. “My friend told me he was a standup guy, so I called him up and said, ‘I hear you’re good at bass and you’re a standup guy,’ and he’s like, ‘I don’t know if I’m a standup guy, but I’m good at bass.’ That was all I needed to hear. He was pretty confident.”

“Officer May was a cop from me and Chris’ hometown,” says Jared about the band’s name. “Not a good guy. We were in high school and we’d go somewhere with the best intentions, like we’d go to the store to buy milk for our moms, and Officer May’s squad car would be behind us the whole time. He was a real ass. Naming the band Officer May was kind of a fuck you to him.”

“We needed a name at the time and didn’t intend for it to last, but there it is,” says Chris with a shrug.

Smoking in A Minor, their first for the rapidly up-and-coming Ace Fu indie label (Ted Leo and Pinback are also on the roster), shows dramatic growth from 2001’s full-length Helping Others Help Themselves, an album that opened with the declaration, “I want to be the leading cause of cancer.” Smoking… is the sound of a band synthesizing their influences and developing a distinctive personality. Their control of dynamics and shifting musical textures is impressive, and Chris’ guitar playing is particularly stunning; his playing aesthetic is similar to Gang of Four’s Andy Gill, Mission of Burma’s Roger Miller, The Wipers’ Greg Sage, and Jesus Lizard’s Duane Denison-players who filled space in jarring and innovative melodic ways. Better still is that Chris pulls off the scrapes, slides, and harmonics while throwing himself wildly around the stage. “I think on a good show, it’s awesome. I can just feel what we’re doing and feel it in the room, like a little buzzing going on, and you’re not thinking about anything, you’re just there in the moment and it’s awesome and you’re sweating and you don’t get tired-there’s something going on. Someone that’s at one of those shows is gonna be psyched that they’re there, it’s something special. It’s not gonna be like that every time, ’cause shit’s usually fucked up-but it’s usually fucked up in a good way.” They tell a story of one of their worst gigs opening for Skeleton Key at The Middle East, which involved them throwing their instruments against the wall out of frustration. “The worst show ever,” says Mike, “and when we got offstage all these kids were hugging us and going, ‘Oh my God!’ It was like, ‘Are you kidding me?’”

“We were psyched to be on a show with a touring band that people have heard of, like our big break, and everything just sucked. We’re throwing stuff around, Jared’s drum kit’s all over the place…”

Officer May’s live show has won them a rapidly increasing number of loyal fans in the past few years, many of whom one might guess were college students because of the band’s age (early twenties), but no. “Why is it that a third of the city is college students, and so few of them go out to see local bands?” I ask.

“I don’t think anybody really tries to get to them,” says Mike. “The kids don’t go looking for The Noise to try to find out what’s going on, and us as a band, we don’t flyer B.U. or anything.”

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s out of the way,” Chris deadpans.

Chris writes with a dark sardonic bent: “If I’m such a witty guy then why are all the jokes on me?” he asks in “My Heart the Boomerang.” “My lyrics are about walking to work day in and day out, again and again, and you live once and you have to waste all this time to maybe get a little time to yourself, but you never get any time to yourself to relax or think or do anything,” he says. “So this bad mood starts small and just kind of balls up and results in frustration. I just want to have progress and I want to be creative, but jobs are all the same and they get in the way of that. I want to play music and feel like I’ve said what I have to say.”

“What is it you want to say?” I ask.

“Well, I’m really disappointed that we don’t have jet packs,” he jokes. “I really thought we’d have jet packs by now.”

“I know, 2003, right? What the fuck,” says Mike. “We should at least have flying cars…”

“All we have is war and high gas prices,” says Chris. “I don’t know. I write about frustration and not having any time and everything being disposable and trash being everywhere. You walk to work five days in a row and it’s hard to breathe stepping on cigarette butts and banana peels and lottery tickets that didn’t win, there’s cars everywhere, everyone’s miserable, everyone’s frowning, like on the T nobody’s talking to each other, and we’re just defeated by this thing, this feeling, this awful machine.”

“But at the same time, I think of how awful it must’ve been to live in the 1600s-can you picture how shitty it must’ve been trudging to work every day back then,” asks Mike. “Everybody lived ’til 40; it seems terrible going to work these days, but…”

“So Mike’s basically saying you’ve got nothing to bitch about,” I tell Chris.

“But that’s the beauty of being a musician,” says Mike. “We can see the miserable shit in everything and bitch about it and write it down.”

I ask Chris if he’s happy with his life, or if he feels negative about the way things are going. “I don’t know, up and down. I feel progress sometimes, I feel happy, certain things make sense, like all the friends and decisions I’ve made make sense for that time and place, and then on the bad days I feel like all my time has been wasted,” he says. “There’s like this fold of skin in your head that prevents you from expressing what’s really on your mind. I’ll have a song in my head and an idea for lyrics, and what comes out isn’t what I had in mind. A lot of it gets scrapped. But with a little time and a little pain, the good stuff and the good songs come out in five minutes.”

“I think it comes from having a certain amount of pain in your heart to make you keep trying and trying,” says Mike. “Anyone who’s ever written a really good song has written 150 shitty songs first, and you’ve got to lose the feeling of being scared of what you’re writing about. You have to lose the fear, and then songs will come out. I think that’s key.”

“I just don’t think that life should have to be drearily predictable,” says Chris, “and you get spoiled when you play a show and everything goes great, ’cause you’re not thinking about anything and you’re escaping from time and everything about yourself, from your body and your face and what you ate for breakfast. You’re just not thinking, and it’s great to escape from everything and just live. There’s clocks and cameras and time everywhere and time is always bearing down on you, like ‘Three hours ’til I can go home, two hours ’til I have to go to work,’ and all that shit-it adds up to frustration. You see people on the subway looking down, and I don’t want that. That’s why music seems like the only way to go, because you can be free and express yourself at the same time – just rock out, you know, that’s the only way to live, and that’s why there shouldn’t be any plan B.”

Officer May plays Charlie’s Kitchen on 4/7 with The Vexers and The Middle East (upstairs) on 4/18 for Nicky Kuland’s leukemia benefit with Roadsaw, Lamont, and Elgin James. Visit acefu.com and officermay.com for details and MP3s.

Support Local Music

THE CHANDLER TRAVIS PHILHARMONIC
Sonic Trout
Tarnation and Alastair Sim
48-song CD
I’m thinking life’s too short to listen to shitty music by artsy poseurs, hedonistic-slash-politically-aware “heavy” rockers, ham-fisted indie wankers, retro panderers, or brain-dead goofs in psychedelic clown suits. So I’d still much rather listen to “Surfin Bird” (or, for that matter, “Eje Ka Jo”) than, um, “Stairway to Heaven.”
Good news for those who agree: “Wireless” has finally made it onto a studio album, as track six. Tune-wise, it’s this timeless and gladsome and nearly indescribably life-affirming hoodoo spell, with a free-jazz horn section from Valhalla and drums that swat out at you like King Kong’s paw, and all seemingly custom-designed to leach all the endorphins out from where they’ve been building up since God was a pup. Plus, brilliant lyrics:
Everything everywhere is faster and lighter and smoother and brighter and better than it’s ever been before/ Everything everywhere is longer and leaner and stronger and meaner and bigger than it ever was way back when/ When it was small and kind and weak and fat and short and worse and dull and rough and dark and slow/ Like back in the old days/ Jesus Christ, say what you will, at least we got cable now…. We’re wireless.
Okay, there are 48 tracks here, and if we winnow out the mere tomfoolery, and there’s plenty of it, we’re left with about a half-dozen truly upstanding songs, like the ready-made wedding reception number, “It’s Almost Christmas Again,” and the jaunty “Money Won’t Buy You Happiness,” and the ecstatic, horn-slathered instrumental “Jesus Teaches Lloyd Price About Remote Controls,” and the friendly old-timey pop hokum of “Must Be Love.” But “Wireless” is literally one of the greatest songs of Travis’s career: Robert Wyatt circa Rock Bottom meets “Oliver’s Army.” For the love of all that’s holy and wise, don’t miss it. (Francis DiMenno)

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BIRD MANCINI
Funny Day
13-song CD
What Funny Day isn’t: punk, garage, or metal of any kind. What Funny Day is: ’60s pop, blues, and rock with a whole lot of other things thrown in there—did I hear some loungy bossa nova? This CD is a veritable goulash of musical ingredients mixed in just the right proportions—two cups of outstanding vocals, six or seven cups of amazing musicianship, a few tablespoons of electric guitar, bass, and drums, a dash of accordion, and a pinch of glockenspiel, piano, tambourine—that the ratio of ingredients creates a brand new dish. Every song is superb but here’s what stands out in my mind at the moment: “Holly”—lush layered vocals reminiscent of ’60s vocal groups (a recurring sound throughout the CD). “So Cool”—Lucinda Williams with less twang and even more grit. “Red Geraniums”—Annie Lennox meets Tom Waits. I hope Bird Mancini keeps the recipe for this concoction; I want many more servings of this stuff. (Robin Umbley)

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THE LIZ BORDEN BAND
Beverly Raven Records
Beautifu
15-songs
For those of you unfamiliar with Lizzie Borden & the Axes (the predecessor of The Liz Borden band), well, they were a pretty happening band in the eighties in these here parts. I’m not sure if I ever saw the band, (too many bands, too few neurons left) but I do recall a big graffiti of their name just outside of Kenmore Square back in the day. If you’re expecting some flashback punk from this band you won’t get it. Instead you’ll get some straightforward bluesy pop/hard rock that probably sounds extra good with a little whiskey, moonlight and beer to go along with it. And their cover of Ten Years After’s “Change The World” is a nice surprise. Actually, most music in this genre seems dull and contrived to my ears but these cats have good tunes that rock—nothing wrong with that. (Slimedog)

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POLYETHYLENE
Optimistic Records
9-song CD
What Goes On Inside Housse
When a band names influences that you’ve never heard, that can be either a good or a bad sign, and in this case, it’s great. Sure, I could throw down a few, but they’d probably be wrong. Polyethylene is a wife/husband pair (Elene Proaka Ellis gets my billing over hubby Neal Ellis simply because her vocals stamp this disc so firmly into my mind’s ear), aided by a drummer and, fetchingly, some folks who occasionally play flute, violin, cello and trombone. If you get the idea that there are some atmospherics going on here, you’re right—this disc works best on a drizzly, unseasonably cold day in June—but there are some other songs that drive right along on a guitar-shaped chassis. Things never get too emo, but they do get plenty melancholy at times, and even a little goth, but only in that sort of “wearing Victorian clothing and playing cello by moonlight” kind of way. This is, in a word, original, and as such, is well worth your time. (Tim Emswiler)

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ERICH GROAT
Found Missing: Volume One 1997-2000
12-song CD
About half of these songs are Baby Ray demos: out-takes to die for—literally, you might think, after listening to the claustrophobic opener “Psychosomatic” and the spooky dissonance of the droning followup, “Drugs Like Me.” But the uncanny and anthemic “Good Kid Nothing,” is a brilliant example of Groat’s unashamed knack for compulsively bending harsh oddness into repetitive and strangely comforting and familiar shapes. Similarly, “Sad Eyed Girl” has a compellingly ominous and almost hypnotic riff underscoring a double-tracked series of vocally suggestive pronunciatos.
In contrast to these, a song like the beautifully lyric “Cross the Table,” with its ostinado-pulsing guitar, seems to float just over the canon of Western music like a helium balloon. The instrumental “69” is telepathic and vital in its impetus, yet lilting and circumambulatory as well. Similarly, the melodic, solo acoustic piece, “What Fred Said,” while stark, is sinuous and insinuating in its sonic impetus. “Treehouse Rock” is a light, acoustic piece with a haunting refrain that resolves into a nearly shamanic combination of electric guitar and incantation. Best of these is the lyrically and melodically brilliant four-piece “Nuclear Explosion,” a luminously tuneful number with a cleverly self-deconstructing coda.
In between the extremes of light and darkness are songs like the astonishing “Little Animal;” this chopped and channeled and backwards-masked Baby Ray amalgam is oddly resonant, and the coda is brilliant. “Come for Dinner,” is taut and tense and resolves into an ecstatic and grandiose climax that’s chilling and brutal. The high point of the album is the nearly inhuman, intensely pentatonic first minute of the penultimate track, “Lonely When I Do,” which, next, lyrically soars for another twenty seconds then grinds its gears into a heavy-bottomed verse, chorus and extended coda.
This collection of lost-and-now-recovered classics is a phenomenally good album from start to finish. Fans of Baby Ray in particular can’t possibly afford to be without it. (Francis DiMenno)

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STEPLADDER
98 Centre Street Lab
Nice Guys Finish
13-song CD
This is the type of guitar -and-keys driven power pop that you’d expect from an album recorded partially at Q Division and featuring guest appearances from the likes of Kay Hanley and Jed Parish. While the disc has its moments, it mostly comes across as a lesser version of Señor Happy or the Gigolo Aunts. The songs are catchy, but not quite catchy enough, with the Kay Hanley-infused “Stubborn in Spanish” being the only real standout amidst tracks that tend to blend together. For the most part, Stepladder is too content to stay in the middle of the road and things really grind to a halt on the slower numbers like “Long Overdue,” which goes down way too easily. This isn’t a bad record by any means, but I’ve got a whole stack of them at home that go down a similar path only more successfully. (Kevin Finn)

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THE FAMILY JEWELS
Hi-N-Dry
Rockin’ Strong
12 songs
On their second LP, The Family Jewels pay tribute to the 1950s R& B, rockabilly, and doo-wop artists. Though nearly letter-perfect, there are some shortcomings to their approach. The vocal arrangement of “You’re So Fine” seems both sluggish and rather broadly interpreted. Furthermore, since it would make little sense to mimic primitive production techniques, the covers of “Ling Tong Tong,” by Otis Williams and His Charms, and of “Gee,” by The Crows, both lack the sublimely antique nuance of the originals—mainly because the ensemble vocals are clean and up-front and Kevin Shurtleff’s drumming is crisp and pronounced. But many of these classic tunes are more than sturdy enough to benefit from modern touches and even some judicious rearrangements. On “Oh Golly Oh Gee,” Steve Sadler is particularly ingenious in the way he amps the steel guitar ala Bob Dunn, and the resurrection of an obscure gem like “Blue Jeans and Ribbons” by The Spiders, a 1950s New Orleans doo-wop group, is a genuine treat, one which also sheds light on the possible origins of “Speedo.” On the whole, we should all be glad that fine folks like Fred Griffeth, Asa Brebner, and Fred Mazzone are up to the challenge of keeping this particularly rich and resonant strain of proto-rock alive. (Francis DiMenno)

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AUTO INTERIORS

Ryko
Let’s Agree to Deceive Our Best Friends
11-song CD
There’s a problem in the world of rock criticism–a problem of which, I am well aware, I contribute with damn near all of my reviews. That’s the game of “spot the influence,” which is too often an excuse for showing off one’s knowledge of obscure bands. The whole situation is made worse when bands drop so many names themselves that they may as well just include a list of their record collections. “We like to say we play record collector rock,” states a member of Auto Interiors, and, while that’s all well and good, it also leaves one (well, it leaves me) with the sense of… well, having sampled their record collections. All of which is to say that I don’t really have a lot to say about this. It’s poppy, it’s rocky, it’s well played and sung even better than well, and some of it sounds like you’ve heard it before, and some of it comes pretty close to sounding like you haven’t heard it before. In the end, it made me go sample my own record collection. (Tim Emswiler)

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THE SELF-RIGHTEOUS BROTHERS

Black and Greene Records
In Loving Memory Of…
12-song CD
The band’s gentle, even genial (and absolutely spot-on) spoofery of various genres is rather like something The Turtles might have done, assuming they had survived as a unit well into the 21st century. Their exemplary ensemble work enhances our ability to appreciate their compositions, not only as (mere) send-ups, but also as baroque exercises in excess and grotesquerie. There certainly ought to be a place of honor reserved for any band that is willing and able to travel this lonely road. Among the send-ups represented here are “heavy” rock bands of the early ’70s (“Floyd”), earnestly cheesy late ’70s power balladry (“Diana”), Kink-y Music Hall (“Tain’t Misbehazin’) and indie-era nouveaux-psychedelic folk-rock wankery—with horns, no less (“Alan Watts”). Why do they do it? I suppose because they can, and because it’s fun. Is the result worth it? Well, twelve songs by virtuosos at play—hell, even one song as good as the querulous steel-guitarfest “Sidecar Jesus”—are worth twelve dozen by any number of solemn asses without a clue. (Francis DiMenno)

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CWAF/NOOSEBOMB

Bestial Onslaught
7-song split CD
How can angst, anger, and rage be captured so brilliantly on tape? This Noosebomb/ CWAF split is packed with energy and balls and is by far one of the best CD’s I have reviewed this year. CWAF is American made grind/sludge that combines thick, heavy riffs with a powerful driving rhythm section topped off with authoritative vocals narrating fury and despair. They feature an all-star lineup—most notably John Gillis (drums) who played with local legends like Today is the Day and Anal Cunt. His performance once again proves that he may be one of the best metal drummers in New England. Noosebomb, who leans more towards sludge/thrash metal, also features a well known lineup with Jeff Hayward (Grief, Disrupt) on guitar, Randy Odierno (Disrupt) on bass and Mike Butkiewicz (Bane of Existence) on drums. This confirms that any band with Hayward and his suburban critique channeled though enraged vocals is bound to make an impression. The final track, “What is the World Coming To,” is a doom- inspired masterpiece, which is just a small example of the tremendous power of Noosebomb. (Leonid)

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MEDINA SOD

Brandt Can’t Watch Music
Trace Back the Lines 10-song CD
If you compare yourself to Phish, then bring the uber-wanky chops and the time signatures that only over-trained musicologists will appreciate, and stomp the idea of “groove” into the dirt. And if you’re gonna mention Zappa, you’d better be able to elevate oddball freakiness to high art. Medina Sod mentions both, but holds a candle to neither (which may be a good thing in the former case, in this Phish-unfriendly universe). Okay, they can play the heck out of their instruments, although that’s a mite far from playing the living shit out of them. They can throw down a jam that doesn’t get (too) boring, and that’s no mean feat. I can hear a little Queen in the operatic, bombastic elements that crop up from time to time, but dammit, when I think “prog,” I think of Yes, old Genesis, King Crimson– hell, I’ll even concede, to my own consternation, Dream Theater. But rather wacky songs played rather well is a far cry from being a subgenre unto itself, and I think it’s best if we keep it that way. (Tim Emswiler)

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ROUTE .44

Blue Radio Records
Worthless Lessons
12-song CD
Like a thick muddy snapping turtle out of a Breakheart swamp, Route .44 lets us in on experiencing the thick, lowdown sludgy wonder and glory that IS one of the defining sounds of the New England area. Upon hearing the first track, I ran to grab the album cover to make sure I wasn’t hearing an unreleased song by Mark Sandman and Morphine. That’s a compliment, as Morphine was one of the most interesting and enjoyable bands to come from around this area. Fat sax layers the tracks (sounds like a rhyme to me), along with a bit more guitar orchestration than the ’Phine would have done, but man o man, it grooves, rocks, and has a constant minor tonality burning through the whole thing that satisfies this listener. This is really a great sounding band, and at eight pieces of personnel, generates a big sound. Want more? Listen to the CD! (Mike Loce)

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PARADE
Out Of The Funbox
13-song CD
This CD is a hard to review. I like it, but who am I? Self-assessment gets menial when confronted by good music. Imagine burning through your workday in a not-so-bad-somewhat-okay mood, and you take the T to work. You’re on two Red Bulls (the 12 ounces) and the hustle-bustle of the station has you pepped up for once, not depressed. The female vocals with harmonization plunge through your ears as you miss the train to Park Street. I hear parade down the windy hallway annals of Tremont. The production is tight but loose, like my T pass in my wallet. I’m trying to describe the “places” this melodic, well-crafted, alternative music put me, you see. I can only write what I know. And I choose to describe locations rather than compare Parade to other bands. So fuck you. They’re really fine. Can you lend me a buck so I can get a coffee at Dunks? I’m so cold. (Mike Loce)

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STAND UP GET DOWN

Topshelf Records
We Have Something To Celebrate
10-song CD
When El Paso post-punk renegades At the Drive In broke up much to the chagrin of its loyal constituency (myself included) in 2000, they left an endless trail of hapless impersonators in their wake. Each tried to capture the band’s frenetically fearless and manic style, most falling well short of the bar, including the band’s two offshoot projects, the Mars Volta and Sparta. And while Boston maybe miles away from Texas, local four-piece Stand Up Get Down seems to be well aligned with their influential ancestry. On We Have Something To Celebrate, the band shifts and moves like a bunch of rabid Fugazi fans on speed, dishing up ten tracks of technically solid and challenging art punk that’s sure to keep listeners on their toes. The music moves from loud to soft and slow to quick, sometimes in a matter of seconds, and while it can be something of a challenging listen to the uninitiated, the feverish energy of the music gives credence to the concept of getting high on music. (Ryan Bray)

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DESOLATION BELLS

Sonic Bubblegum Records
What Is Your Trajectory?
11-song CD
The press release name-drops a fistful of bands, and I’ll be damned if I’ve heard half of them, but that just means it’s a crappy press release. The album is fine, even if it confirms my growing suspicion that stylistic continuity from the start of an album to the finish is going the way of the dinosaur. Opener “Butterflies” is a feel-good track that makes my head do hippy-dippy things, but then “Love is a Fire” sounds like it would be right at home on a Chris D/Divine Horsemen disc. Then there’s more poppy goodness, then a punchy rave-up with some sharp guitar hooks, a Brit-pop inflected song, a slightly funkified rocker, and a mopey closer. The contributions of the female vocalists set this way apart from the pack (and the band’s overall oddness renders it a pretty small pack in the first place). The musicianship is pretty no-frills, but the emotive content is all over the place, so those of us with multiple personalities will always find something to dig. (Tim Emswiler)

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VARIOUS ARTISTS
Compound 440R
Local Collections 2007
14-song CD compilation
I love the idea of this CD. Take one track each from fourteen artists who practice at the same space and release a compilation. The execution of this idea, though, I’m not so crazy about. I incorrectly assumed (and I admit it was probably a bad assumption) that there would be a whole array of styles and genres, but the majority of the tracks have an electronic leaning, which to my admittedly more guitar-loving ears grows extremely monotonous. The worst offenders are UV Protection, whose contribution sounds like an outtake from a video game score and The Westward Trail, whose track sounds like a very slow torture session. There are some highlights, though. Cassette’s brief “Stay Close to Home” is what The Smiths would have sounded like had laptops been prevalent in the ’80s and Crystal Understanding’s “White Teacher” manages to remind me of both The Magnetic Fields and Mates of State. And I must say that the disc ends fantastically with Hilken Mancini’s very non-electro Shepherdess doing “Green Seat,” a number whose choppy, rhythmic guitars and occasionally shouted vocals recall Mary Timony’s best post-Helium work. The CD is worth picking up for that song alone. (Kevin Finn)

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HIRUDINEA/WATCHMAKER

Bestial Onslaught
11-song split CD
Bestial Onslaught’s Watchmaker/Hirudinea split is black metal/thrash at its finest. The CD contains so much power it’s like they absorbed all the energy from the sun and fed it to their monstrous approach to music. The low-fi recording quality only adds to the appeal. There are hints of Slayer, The Accused, Black Flag, Napalm Death, and Today is the Day but with an original twist. Regarding Hirudinea, I am most impressed by the drumming and vocal dynamic that get my adrenaline rushing thus making me vigorously angry yet peacefully subdued. Watchmaker epitomizes black metal with their use of heavily-distorted guitars, fast-paced rhythms and gnarling vocals. Combined, both bands inspire me to jump onto a sea of fury, strong enough for me to float above until I fall to the ground and get trampled to death. Later my soul will be burned to ashes and blown to dust. There is not much to critique nor praise about this CD—it’s just black metal with true passion. (Leonid)

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SINKING SPELLS

Cedar House Sound
The Devil at my Side
7-song CD
Try to remember where you were the day Joey told Dawson it was over and went and cried all over Pacey (Dawson’s Creek). If you can’t remember back that far, picture Ryan finding Marissa dead on the side of the road (The O.C.). Try to remember what was playing in the backround. It’s safe to say, that you could easily replace that song with any given track from this standout composition by Sinking Spells (Neil, Phil, and Robb). This three-piece has stumbled upon the formula to bring the best of melancholia, dark themes, and assorted teenage angst into harmony with gleeful poppy chords and well placed upbeat tempos. It’s beautiful and catchy and sure to have wide appeal.
If you have never seen one of these “soundtrack shows” and have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, try to imagine All in The Family sneaking a future hit song into every episode. Just imagine Archie running up the stairs to use the terlit, while Band of Horses’ “Funeral” plays softly in the backround. Or maybe, Edith staring off into space as Leonard Cohen’s “Halelujah” indicates to the veiwer another poigniant moment.
Anyway, this record is a nice piece of work. I like it. (Paisley Simone)

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LIGHTS
Get Lit
9-song CD
I really don’t know quite what to make of this record, and that actually makes me quite happy. The album cover is a cheery light blue with a little kid and some flowers, so I was expecting something kind of mellow and pretty. Nope. For the most part, this is loud, noisy, expansive rock with the vocals frequently obscured by various effects, best exemplified on the album’s strongest number, “Big Bad Little One.” A full album of this approach would probably get old. Fortunately, though, Lights does allow a melodic sensibility to puncture through all the noise, and there are a couple trippy, mellower instrumentals that serve as effective changes of pace, most notably “You’re Gonna Need a Bigger Boat.” It will be interesting to see what these guys cook up next. (Kevin Finn)

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EASTER BLOODHOUNDS
14-song CD
I’ve tried listening to this disc about ten times now, and can’t get beyond the first three songs due to the mix… and the vocalist—what you can hear of him. At times there seems to be some great instrumental stuff going on, and perhaps it is this band’s calling to be without a vocalist. For the most part, this three-piece is very heavy and conjures some great dirgy metal sounds. It’s not until the eighth track (“Night Terrors”) that there is any semblance of dynamics. Track nine (“Light Years”) is brilliant, and almost makes up for the last twenty minutes of my life that I can’t have back. The mixes seem to improve later in the disc, but still have an overly bombastic musical assault with poorly mixed vocals. If I’ve understood six words on this disc, I’m lucky. There are several tracks that show a lot of promise, but the production completely ruins any thought of this disc being somewhat enjoyable or intriguing to listen to. (John Hess)

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FAMILY JUNCTION

FamJam Records
Running Trains (we’re huge in Japan)
13-song CD + extras
Family Junction’s Running Trains (we’re huge in Japan) is a self-produced album that includes 13 great original tunes plus a bonus DVD that features two versions of their homemade movie, shorts, deleted scenes and commentary tracks. I am impressed by the overall packaging and the idea of including a DVD. This multi-instrumentalist (they all switch) quintet incorporate various styles of music such as progressive, funk, jazz, rock, folk and hip hop and utilize them flawlessly in their approach to songwriting. There are some great jazzy guitar arrangements complimented with smooth rhymes flowing on top. Family Junction remind me of Phish during the upslope of their success; before their egos and drug addictions forced them to write goofy songs while continuously breaking up and reforming until the diehard Trey fans finally realized that he does not have the ‘Midas Touch.’ Family Junction has evolved past the jam-band scene, creating a new genre for their fans to absorb. If you like Umhpries Mcgee and hip-hop (backed by a live band) then you will enjoy Family Junction. (Leonid)

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MUSEUM OF SCIENCE
CTRL+ALT+DLT
16-song CD
Yo, Zortar here, and we are here at the Museum of Science to witness strange exhibits. Since everyone knows the best rap comes from the wilds of New Hampshire it should be no surprise that this New Hampster, band gets mad props from my white cracker-ass alien lips. But this is not mere rap, no, dear earthlings. The music encompasses progressive rock (in the drumming), metalish guitar, experimental electro, surreal humor, all put in a blender, pureed and poured in little margarita glasses with umbrellas for you to sip and savor. Yum! And served on a bed of Spanish rice (with your choice of vegetable.) This band is cooler than ice cream stuffed down your shorts on a hot summer day. If one is intrigued by rap but put off by its commerciality and don’t want to leave your rock roots completely behind, then pony up, I say, and be a Granite State gangsta, live free or die! (Slimedog)

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KURT REIFLER

Red Glare Records
Kurt Reifler
10-song CD
The hills are alive—with the sound of Kurt Reifler’s self titled debut and something about it, bothers me. I mean, it’s everything it claims to be: raw, passionate, and unapologetic. Still, something nags at me to DEMAND an apology. I just can’t put my finger on what that is. Maybe it’s me. I keep waiting for a breakthrough, which never materializes.
It’s not bad. It has all the right things in all the right places, thanks in large part to Reifler’s full band (unfortunately, never mentioned by name anywhere in the bio or on the disc). Bummer, because there’s some really great stuff going on in the backround. It’s a truly rugged little package with suprisingly meaty tracks and catchy refrains (you break it, you buy it, you own it). In the words of “cowbell legend” Bruce Dickenson, “You guys… have… what appears to be… a dynamite sound.” It just grates after a while. (Paisley Simone)

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ELECTRIC LASER PEOPLE
Straight Talk on Raising Kids
13-song CD
These MIT graduates know how to do more than just build robots and design prosthetic limbs; they can also arrange and produce music to par with Warner Bros. Studying engineering and scientific theory not only results in lucrative careers but in this case it helped produce artistic conceptualizations. Straight Talk on Raising Kids, recorded and produced by the band, is an extension of their brilliantly trained minds, now motivated to produce melody and rhyme. Electric Laser People is a party band to say the least. Their sound blends the hip hop stylings of The Beastie Boys with the production and song writing abilities of The Flaming Lips and The Police. They also have a sense of humor that stands out most with “The Makeout Song” and “Words Couldn’t Do Justice” (which is a short bootleg). The CD starts off and finishes strong with some minor snags in between. It contains a plethora of styles ranging from hip hop to bluegrass to country to blues. This is for fans of early Beck and Talking Heads. (Leonid)

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THE REV TOR BAND
Mystic Wolf
12-song CD
Great. Mystic Wolf—a CD with a picture of a wolf howling in the sunset on the cover. Just what I want to listen to: another crappy quasi-spiritual band from Vermont. Whatever. I gotta review it. Okay—prepare mind to endure a whole CD of embarrassingly earnest “musicians” who can’t play. Pop CD in car stereo. Here goes. First few bars play. Hey! This isn’t crappy; this is really good! It sounds sort of like Little Feat, with elements of funk, blues, soul, rock, jazz, and whatever you call it, it has a fantastic happy groove going throughout. “Let Me Down” has upbeat, fun piano and guitar solos; “Believe” is bluesy and oh-so-smooth. “Be Nice or Leave” has a basic rock ’n’ roll structure with some soulful organ—and a guest performance from Jaimo, the Allman Brothers’ drummer. This stuff is way too intelligent and structured for the jam label it’s been lumped in with; it’s jam when jam meant jamboree. And they’re not from Vermont; they’re from Massachusetts. (Robin Umbley)

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MEDICATED KISSES
Medicated Kisses
3-song CD
Medicated Kisses is a powerhouse of rock talent. Frontwoman Alanna V has an incredible vocal range as well as a potent emotional presence and the band is tighter than a kindergartener’s vagina (not that I would really know about such things). Unfortunately, the band sells itself short by creating music that evokes comparisons with Christina Aguilera—A comparison that could easily put a date stamp on a band that should be looking toward the future, setting their own trends, instead of trying to follow one littered with corpses of failed disciples and American Idol wannabes. Their instantly commercial sounding hard driving sound will get them on the radio, but the potential for creative originality, hinted at in moments within each of these three songs and certainly exhibited in their live shows, should, by all rights, propel them to greatness. (Joel Simches)

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BRIAN KELLEY & SOCIAL LUBRICATION
LSK Records
War Stories
6-song CD
With Inspiration from Kelley’s grandfather’s experience in Iwo Jima as a Marine during WWII, Brian Kelley’s trio produces a dark mournful collection of pieces destined to become the soundtrack to the black and white newsreel memories of the last great war. War Stories carves a path that is far away from traditional jazz, but has more genuine emotion and soul than anything contemporary experimental jazz has attempted in quite some time. While there is still very loose structure to the melodic ideas, these pieces seem to paint more of a stark and accurate portrait of actual events than just a freeform ambiguous feeling open to interpretation. Ken Burns should give these guys a call next time the History Channel does a World War II documentary. (Joel Simches)

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CRYOSTASIUM
Bestial Onslaught
Cryostasium
5-song CD
This is either brilliant or a waste of time, depending on your mindset. Recorded on a broken four-track by Strip Cunt, each piece is a tormented journey into the diseased mind of a twisted, tortured soul. Guitar drones, recorded at various speeds are interspersed with wails, grinds, stifled screams and the occasional distorted drum machine pulse. This meandering mélange of malaise is split into three main sections, each evoking images of claustrophobic entrapment, mental anguish, and futile struggle. If Happy Flowers were more like Happy the Clown, it would sound a lot like this. I don’t recommend listening to this on mushrooms, or maybe I do. (Joel Simches)

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JIMI HALFDEAD & THE DIE ALONGS
Down Came The Rain…
6-song CD
Slimedog’s cat, here. The guy who lives downstairs, Johnny Shortpantz, brought this upstairs for a review. He’s not in the band but works with one of the guys who’s in the band but I won’t hold it against the band for consorting with such disreputable company. Slimedog fell off his chair, drunk again, so I slipped the CD in myself while he just drooled on the floor. The first song is a curious little number with a slow descending synth line and Martian vocals spilled in but after that it’s a rocking, guitar based sound throughout. Mr. Shortpantz thought it was punk but I think though energetic and rough this falls in with the gore-horror rockabilly garage style and they do it admirably. They would sound good on a bill with Providence’s The Goners, I believe. My favorite tune is “Call of the Spider,” just wish I could find one to play with right now. (Slimedog)

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ANCIENT PISTOL
White Sands Memories: A Nuclear Landscape
5-song CD
Mike Feeney has a guitar, some looping effects, and a lot of time to kill in an afternoon. As sole member of Ancient Pistol, he takes inspiration from what he rather pompously calls “Musicians That Matter,” a roster of influentials such as Laibach, Roger Miller, Fripp, Eno…the usual suspects. His soundscapes are made on the fly and recorded live, much like many artists around here whose work I’ve come to respect. While the textures are inventive, the quality of the recording is pretty lo-fi, which robs these pieces of the cinematic texture they cry out for and the ideas seem to develop at a glacial pace and seem masturbatory at times. It would be nice to hear such inspired work better recorded and more refined. (Joel Simches)

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