Photo by Eric Pestana
THE SHODS
Poorhouse Records
Tippy
15 songs
This CD is perfect for a party, or other sorts of drunken revelry of your choice. As I listen to it, I picture piles of beer-toting buddies singing aloud at the top of their lungs in some bar or living room. This disc’s main strength lies in its large variety of song styles, one or more of which are sure to please everyone at some point or another. Country, psycho-billy, punk, and ska all find their place on this album in a perfectly seamless fashion. The nice thing about this album is that it is just that: an album. No song is unnecessary or superfluous, which is a wonderful thing in this age of 15+ song discs where half could have been left out. Tippy is an album that stands perfectly as a whole. The Shods remind me a bit of The Mighty Mighty Bosstones sans horn section, which is not a bad thing, since it lets them develop a darker, original edge in their sound. My favorite tracks are easily “Bobby’s Birthday Party” and “Go-Go Dancin’,” which on their own could inspire delightful evening festivities. (L’Aretino)
FRANCINE
Q Division
28 Plastic Blue Versions of Endings Without You
13 songs
The Beatles stylishly merged show tunes, blues, folk-based skiffle, C&W;, Motown, and anything else which fell under their eclectic purview into some of the best music of the mid to late ’60s. At about the same time, the Velvet Underground helped weaned rock from its hapless dependence on blues-based forms; still later, Pink Floyd and other psychedelic bands, as well as their short-lived bubblegum successors, used studio effects to mutate those blues-based forms about as far as they could go. Certain new wave bands such as XTC were profoundly influenced by these models. The folks in Francine appear to be well aware of their predecessors and proceed accordingly. Listening to their music is like entering a mirror-world in which familiar conventions are recognizable but inverted and subtly distorted at the same time. These strange, inimitably beautiful songs are unforgettably haunting. All of them are distinct and 12 of the 13 are brilliant. (I don’t much care for “Uninstall”). On the whole, this CD makes me proud to be living in 2K3. (Francis DiMenno)
WALTHAM
Permission to Build
11-song CD
I’ll never forget my introduction to Waltham. It was a few years ago at Skybar, that auspicious lair of untested talent where you never know what you’re gonna get. My reaction-ascending disbelief followed by numb acceptance followed by the realization “Holy hell, I’m actually having a good time”- was clearly replicated all over the room. “Um…Rick Springfield?” stammered one well-known mop-topped scenester into my ear. “They…they’re seducing my inner fourteen-year old girl,” I marveled. This is Boston, home of indie rock, land of garage schlock. Who expects teeny-bopper idols in cut-off T-shirts creating big bass, bigger guitars, enormous melodic hooks, with gargantuan balls to actually get up on stage and play songs we should be hearing on VH1’s Where Are They Now?
Now the ultimate Guilty Pleasure has released their debut CD, Permission to Build, and it’s absolutely, purely, a Waltham record. If they were tempted to do anything risky or edgy (i.e., out of character), they resisted. Permission to Build delivers eleven effervescent, catchy and totally brainless pop/rock nuggets with song titles like “Hook Me Up With Your Friend” and “Don’t Say It’s Too Late.” “I think we should call your daddy up and tell him I’ll be the one,” Frank Pino croons on “Maria Simeone,” one of four songs titled after girls’ names. Cheesy? Oh, yes. Good record? YEAH! Behold, the power of cheese! (Lexi)
KENNE HIGHLAND & HIS VATICAN SEX KITTENS
Stanton Park Records
Be More Flamboyant!
10 songs
For his four-million-and-twelfth release, Kenne does… well, Kenne. As with, say, a Billy Childish record, you can pretty much grab anything Kenne’s put out, regardless of the year or lineup, and expect a few guarantees. In his case, that includes four chords, distortion, songs about girls and music, a fake Southern accent, and a wry dual nod to ’60s garage simplicity and ’70s bloated decadence. I should add that certain live events of his are among the more memorable of my memorable-event-filled life. And for the first nine tunes, this is among the best stuff he’s done, which says lots. Urgent and chunky, with sudden flurries of feedback flyin’ around, and that steadfast guttersnipe whine, what so proudly he hails. The band here brings that subtle-in-spite-of-itself quality that sounds like they’re having a blast, AND they mean it to death. Easy to be hard, as they say. So what the fuck were they thinkin’ with track 10? An 18-minute, one-chord anti-opus with Kenne ramblin’ insider obscurities about nuthin’ much to absolute zero effect, which is WAY too close to having an actual conversation with the guy than anyone should have to endure, trust me. Worth it for the rest, but Note To Kenne: the records are for singin’. You want people to come to the shows, don’tcha? (Joe Coughlin)
LIGHTNING BOLT
Load Records
Wonderful Rainbow
10 songs
Like an aerosol can in a microwave, so starts the opening sounds of “Hello Morning,” the overture to Lightning Bolt’s sonic onslaught. It seems to hang, suspended like a man underwater, holding his breath, looking up at the sun before breaking the surface, the powerhouse “Assassins.” Lightning Bolt is a runaway locomotive of sound, of buildings falling down and screaming and a thousand open wounds, the culmination of generations of music fans repeating the word “heavy” until it has finally lost all meaning, all relevance, so springs up Lightning Bolt to show “heavy” as the meaningless shadow it has become.
And it’s only two guys. And no guitars.
“Two Towers” might be about The Lord Of The Rings, but for me, it is the sound of blood pounding in my ears, waiting for the second plane to smash into the World Trade Center, as I know it will. Lightning Bolt might sound repetitive to some, but it is the suspense that adds dramatic tension and makes the release that much more rewarding. These guys are on to something here, and I entirely recommend this album to all fans of heavy music. Prepare to be destroyed. (Jesse Thomas)
WILLARD GRANT CONSPIRACY
Glitterhouse Regard the End
11 songs
“Truth leads us down strange roads… each one different I suppose” Having followed the arc of Robert Fisher’s career here in Boston (from Laughing Academy, through Violet Crumbles and The Flower Tamers, to Willard Grant Conspiracy), I am deeply moved by this newest offering, which I must declare a masterpiece, although this may seem too grand a word for music so true, intimate, soothing, reflective, gracious, redemptive, solemn, pensive, healing, and proud. “It’s as old as the world… the suffering’s gonna come” Sprung from the great Americana tradition, the band’s folk-noir manner has shaped layer upon layer to anchor the vocal tracks. The guest singers’ pairings with Robert are spot-on perfect (Blake Hazard on “Soft Hand,” Kristin Hersh on “Ghost of the Girl in the Well,” and Jess Klein on “Fare Thee Well,” “The Suffering Song,” and “Harrison Hayes”). The instrumental textures are expressive and sophisticated, with violin & viola, soft trumpet, lush tone pedal guitars, grand piano, field organ, mandolin, and saw… kudos to long-time members Pete Sutton, David Michael Curry, Peter Linnane, Drew O’Doherty, and Dennis Cronin among others. “Faith can heal a lot of wounds… I find a reason to carry on.” This album is rooted in the lessons and confessions of human travelers and the spirituality that guides them. It’s a shame Regard the End is available only as an import (no American label yet!) because this music demands to be part of our heritage! (Mr. Curt)
CLUSTERFUX
Rodent Popsicle Records
Thrash Mongrel
12 songs
Usually, the word “punk” makes its way into damn near every review I write of a Rodent Popsicle release, but let’s face facts here-this is straight-up thrash metal, as in the kind of loud/fast thrash that Anthrax and even Metallica used to serve up, although Clusterfux mercifully steer clear of the wanky guitar solos, most of the time. There’s a female and a male vocalist, which makes for a nice contrast between high pitched screaming and even higher pitched screaming. These fuckers can play, but I don’t know how suited the current musical climate is for what they’re playing. I mean, when was the last time you went out and thought to yourself, “I think I’ll buy a thrash album today”? They do know how to change the pace a bit, but it’s still a joyful pummeling throughout, and will make even the most jaded among you bob your heads up and down happily, provided you are inclined toward such things. Sadly, I fear that there are not enough of you out there. But the passion with which these folks play this stuff gives one the impression that Clusterfux really don’t give a rat’s ass what you think of them. (Tim Emswiler)
THE BENDERS
Pig Pile Records
Mountain Radio
12 songs
In a more open-minded musical climate, The Benders would be the household name they so richly deserve to be. They’re a straight-up bluegrass band with a healthy respect for tradition, but with an equally healthy respect for punk and scummy rock ‘n’ roll. Bow Thayer, Tim Kelly, and Sean Staples approach their respective instruments (banjo, dobro and mandolin) the way Eddie Van Halen approaches guitar playing; they’re all boundary-pushing virtuosos with the good taste and restraint to play for the song instead of merely showcasing their chops. Their heart wrenching songs are exceptionally well written and instantly memorable regardless of one’s stylistic leanings – when a band is this fucking good, those who really love music feel it and understand. The standout on this, their third full-length, is “35 Acres” by one of my all-time favorite songwriters Jabe Beyer, which fuses his love of 16 Horsepower and Island-era Tom Waits with the best elements of the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack. While not as immediately striking as their last release, Mountain Radio is an exceptional album by an exceptionally talented band. (Mike Baldino)
VARIOUS ARTISTS
Modmusic Records
Indie Choice 2002
16 songs
Another fine collection of great tunes here. It’s interesting that bands compete to be on this disc, making it even easier for an A&R; rep to not do his job and actually check out new music, when they can just pick up this. Boston’s contribution to this comp is none other that the sunny pop stylings of Fooled By April. Their track, “Student Movie,” is a sunny send-up to The Byrds, The Beatles, and The Beach Boys, complete with hints of lava lamps, surf boards, and Brady Bunch lunchboxes. Anybody who can still be in a bad mood after listening to this pop ditty is not fit to participate in life or play any reindeer games. Go sit in the corner and don’t come back until you learn to smile… punk! fooledbyapril.com (Joel Simches)
JES PERRY
Esther Records
Clearing My Head
12 songs
Granted, I’m a little afraid of appearing mature, but this is some seriously sweet, adult-contemporary, white-bread lovestruck stuff that works unreasonably well, and not just “for what it is.” One reason is the songwriting, particularly some arresting chord changes, which never sound deliberately thrown in just to be arresting, which very few folks can pull off. Another reason is Perry’s voice. Sometimes you don’t WANT the jagged, been-through-the-wringer thing. Kinda like Lucinda Williams if all she drank was milk, but it’s enough here. Another reason is, yeah, she’s a babe. Before you get offended, remember that it’s always been fine for women to like musicians under such purely selfish pretense. (Hey, the first time I heard Rita Coolidge, I wouldn’t have cared if she looked like Chris Farley. I was there, bay-bay!) Okay, it doesn’t ACTUALLY affect my opinion here, but it sure doesn’t fuckin’ hurt. And I was set to let it go at that, but then something really wrong happened. A stunningly effective voice-and-piano piece surfaced as a hidden track. I’d go so far as to call it career-making. It’s that strong, all by itself, and I heard it by ACCIDENT. Let that be a lesson to anyone who still thinks that kinda shit is cute. (Joe Coughlin)
HIP TANAKA
Local 33 1/3 Label
Splinter
10 songs
Hip Tanaka not only think they’re smarter and far more clever than you, they actually are. Call them college rock for people that actually went to a good college-not their local state institution. They’re part Pixies, Weezer, Pavement and the fucking kitchen sink. I actually wasn’t sure how I felt about these guys on the first listen. On multiple spins, their greatness begins to rear its head. “Robert Duvall (David Duvall)” has a very angular chorus that is permanently affixed to a section of my brain I’d forgotten about. I fear this band is far too intelligent for your average label weasel to understand. The driving full steam ahead track “Dr Highway” transitions almost without fault into the space cadet “Heyday,” proving that The Flaming Lips have nothing on Hip Tanaka. I find it hard to believe this band doesn’t do copious amounts of hallucinogens. I need to start, just so I can listen to this in a state of mind it more rightly deserves. A must-buy if your taste swings even slightly to the more interesting side of the rock pendulum. (Shady)
SUNTAN
Kimchee Records
Send You Home 7 songs
Confession: I haven’t smoked pot in almost ten years. Apology: I’m sorry. Ahem: Nouveau-psychedelia had its moment some 20-odd years ago. But: Let’s not be rigid. Besides: I hate to dump on any Kimchee product, because they are such well-meaning folks. So: songs like “The Next Ones” and “King Felix” are admirable-they’re textured in such a way as to give you a kind of contact buzz-rather like “The Void,” the demo version of “Tomorrow Never Knows,” or Pink Floyd’s “Interstellar Overdrive.” My admittedly subjective opinion: It’s rather difficult to say something new in the medium of psychedelic rock, but with its nearly omnipresent ebb-and-flow dynamic, much of this music seems unusually predictable. The exception that proves the rule: The ambitious, and ultimately majestic three-part suite “Send You Home” Questions: Is the music unforgettably profound? Is it life-altering? Is it pleasurable? And is that adequate? Answers: For the most part, no. No. Yes. Yes, and then some. (Francis DiMenno)
DEAD PEDESTRIANS
Rodent Popsicle
In the Streets
11-song CD
I think I had been reviewing CDs for about six months when I first ran out of new ways to say that a band tramples the line between punk and metal into the dust, and I’m now firmly on the road to self-plagiarism, but fuck all that anyway, because this is the real goods. Dead Pedestrians spew genuine venom and outrage like no one I’ve heard since Hatebreed (who scared the living piss out of me live), and they play like veterans. And only a band that really means it can write a song called “Fuck You” and pull it off. This could be the best thing I’ve ever heard from this label, and RPR have put out some gems of the local heaviness scene. Nice use of time-changes to induce alterations in the rate of headbanging, and tight like they’ve been playing together for a long time, which they couldn’t have been because they’re, like, kids (in comparison, I mean). Production values could have been a damn sight better; these guys should save up all their lunch money and spring for a top-notch studio next time around, and who knows, maybe some bigger labels might start sniffing around. (Tim Emswiler)
WHISTLE JACKET
Rainy Day Sunshine
15 songs
The name of this CD says so much about the retro hip quality of the fifteen songs presented here. This the kind of music that you could make in the living room on a four track on a rainy day with nothing to do but make music to cheer you up. Though sparsely produced, with that sloppy unfinished feel, all the songs kinda remind me of what the Banana Splits would sound like if Beagle, Fleagle, Drooper, and Snork were fronted by Neil Young. If you picture Cinnamon Girl done this way you’ll get the idea. There’s also a lot of Sleater-Kinney, Sloan, and Papas Fritas in evidence here. Rainy Day Sunshine gets more addictive as it unfolds. I look forward to hearing more from this unabashedly cool and trendy group. Whistle Jacket is my new favorite band!
emailmeemail@yahoo.com (Joel Simches)
EAMONN VITT
Self-Starter Foundation
Deserted Music
9 songs
His press bio reads a bit like On the Road, and his adventures could be an advertisement for the vast badlands of the American deserts, cross-country backpacking through Central America, and everywhere in between. Who is this mystery man riding off into the sunset?
Though the premise sounds cliché, Eamonn Vitt’s music is undeniably appealing. Full of a comfort and friendliness that is both beautiful and down-to-earth, Deserted Music proves some insight truly can be gained from love and the road. Who knew?
The lyrics are soulful and clever, some even like navigation (“keep your eyes on the stars/and don’t look down” he advises in “Coasting”), leading to the road of singer/songwriter appreciation. His acoustic arrangements are classic, and harmonies with the female vocals on “Mixed Drinks” and “Followed” sound gorgeous. If his music is any marker, Eamonn Vitt has definitely been around. (Lisa Herforth-Hebbert)
WESTFORD TEEN ARTS COUNCIL
Compilation 2002: Freedom 17 songs
“Out of the mouths of babes.” What continually amazes me is the boundless wealth of knowledge, insight and raw talent that younger people can have when allowed to express their artistic side. This compilation shows the diversity of talent that can happen as a result. Seventeen tracks range in style from pensive folk to alt rock to chamber music to soft ballads to jazz and beyond. This disc is lovingly produced and showcases the raw talents of kids ranging in age from fourteen to twenty-one. Some of my favorites here include both tracks by Audio Camouflage, Violin Trio-Westford Chamber Players’ “Tango,” Professional Radio’s “Mamacita!,” Jacqueline Wells’ pensive “So,” Phoneboy’s brilliant “Driving,” and the ill-fitting “Day 7” by Pierre Has No Friends. Some of the other tracks definitely have that American Idol/ Star Search feel to them, but this is truly an album that has something for everyone. westford.com/teenart (Joel Simches)
THE BRANDS
Nobody’s Favorite Records
Ballads For Stairs and Transparencies
13 songs
The Brands is a musical vehicle for the songwriting stylings of a gentleman by the name of Mark Mandeville. His songs are fresh and tuneful, reveling in the poetic angst of Michael Stipe, while retaining the indie credibility of The Flaming Lips, Nick Drake, Elliot Smith, and Beck. Mandeville performs all the songs largely by himself, occasionally augmented by percussion and bass. The production is open and sparse, and the songs never get boring. Mandeville’s voice is fragile, but intense, pulling emotion out of every melody and into each word. The guest vocalists used on this disc take not only take away from the intimacy that Mandeville is trying to convey, but they’re bloody awful, to boot. Try to listen through them, because otherwise this CD is totally engaging and a worthy addition to anyone’s music collection. the-brands.com (Joel Simches)
ALLERGIC TO WHORES
Rodent Popsicle Records
Life Through Death’s Eyes
9 songs
I really shoulda noticed the label right off. Someone younger might have been more objective (although I think objectivity is way overrated). Anyway, remember that guy “Pushead” who used to write for MaximumRockNRoll? All his reviews were variations of, “A blistering whirlwind of frenetic, fret-shredding explosives atop the primordial earthquake rumble of bass, the storm-trooping death squad of doom-laden drums, and the disgusting, destroyed, corrosive, putrid spleen of the tortured vocals, railing maniacally against the ugliness of life,” or something. Well, what he said. It’s that all-ages VFW hall stuff that has no melodies to speak of, triple-time tempos, the requisite spray-paint-lookin’ band name on the front, the unreadable initials-logo on the back, the faux-metal imagery (wolves, pigs, gasmasks, an upside-down cross), guys with studded guitar straps and those big chains on their wallets, and song titles Black Sabbath would be proud of. I understand this still flies with the kids pretty big these days, and that geezers like me no longer qualify for membership. So, expecting me to dig these guys is like expecting them to dig The Monkees. You could argue that it’s more honorable to leave such records for someone who likes ’em, but did you really expect me to pass on a band name like that? (Joe Coughlin)
BOURBON PRINCESS
Accurate Records
Black Feather Wings
12 songs
The instant I heard this CD (all right, maybe eight seconds into it) I knew I was hearing the singular sound of Dana Colley’s saxophone. As a diehard Morphine lover, this album was nothing short of miraculous, sounding less like Morphine part two and more like Morphine: The Next Generation.
But this album is actually the work of Monique Ortiz, and it’s merely featuring Dana Colley and Jerome Deupree (plus the multifaceted Jim Moran on guitar and a whole lot else), despite how much it sounds like… like that other band I’ve already mentioned three times. I can’t help but expect this CD to be held up against that other band’s historic catalog, and as much of a fan of that other band as I am, I have to say this is an excellent record. Smoky, sultry, smooth and sensual, the music ebbs and flows around Ortiz’s lyrical labyrinth, and any and all fans of Morphine would be doing themselves a disservice if they let this record slip by. (Jesse Thomas)
YOKE SHIRE
Zygo Records
A Seer in the Midst
9 songs
Some of the practices and beliefs of medieval times persist. Knowing the ways in which they haunt us goes a long way towards explaining the popularity of phenomena such as The Lord of the Rings, Jethro Tull, The Medieval Manor, and various “Faires.” Yet, despite the bell-book-and-candle trappings on the CD sleeve, and in spite of the spacy flute and pseudo-archaic ambiance of the instrumentation and laid-back production, much of the music of this Yoke Shire retrospective takes its cues from mid-level jazz fusion. I discern nothing in the way of genuine medieval musical forms, or even of the electrified folk of Pentangle, Steeleye Span, Fairport Convention, Incredible String Band, et alai. A track like “Ghan Buri Ghan” seems closer to prog rock such as Yes or Genesis. “Maiden Voyage” is like fifth-rate Hendrix. In spite of song titles like “The Bell, the Book and The Maiden,” which is a 20-minute, Keith Jarrett-esque, mostly instrumental piece, the medieval stuff is largely just a gimmick. That in itself wouldn’t be so bad, if only the music weren’t so stuffy and drab and underdistinguished. Maybe they should have called this “A Pig in a Poke.” Oh well, back to ye olde drawing board…. (Francis DiMenno)
PAUL J. BOSSE
Angry Rodent Records
Belljar
11 songs
Paul Jon Bosse likes to weld and make his own instruments. These found instruments serve as a backdrop to Bosse’s jazzy groove style of drumming. This 11 song CD was a live radio performance on WMPG in Portland, ME. Given that it is a live performance, it is easy to forgive some technical inconsistencies with both the playing and recording. Still the sounds created by these miscellaneous objects, filtered through effects, looped and expounded upon, set up a percussive landscape that seems to tell a different story and set a different mood from one piece to another. Albums of this nature tend to go out of their way to be as inaccessible as possible. With Bosse, this is not the case. There is something on this recording that even the casual listener may enjoy. I’m glad I own this recording. angryrodent.com (Joel Simches)
THE BLUE BLOODS
I Scream Records
The Blue Bloods
18 songs
Fans of catchy, triple-fast anthemic schlock will find this irresistible. The music gets to you where it counts-in the lizard brain. It makes you want to twitch and gurgle and gyrate, though that could just be the coffee. They’re never boring (or comprehensible); they’re never a major drag (or coherent); their songs never go on too long (and seldom pause for breath, though see stop-and-start dynamics of the cleverly-titled “Burning Bridges Light The Way”). A song like the hell-bent-for-leather “Kowalski” reminds me of the Clash with only one minute and ten seconds to make their point. I’ve heard hundreds of bands who can play this fast, but this is one of the few I would feel obliged to recommend. Maybe because most of their songs are actually distinct and structurally sound and appear to have been crafted with a distinct purpose in mind and even bear trace amounts of melody. Okay, I could do without the pointless see-saw clamor of “Glue,” even though it’s followed in short order by the strangely compelling, though equally pointless see-saw clamor of “Parting Shot.” And that cover photo of Jack, Bobby, and Teddy is gravy. (Francis DiMenno)
LITTLE HORSE
Little Horse Music
The Mission Before Us
14 songs
If you took Ben Folds and had David Byrne produce his album with a Brazilian flair and then got 10cc to reunite and do all the backing vocals, the result would sound exactly like this little disc from Little Horse. The band is fronted by brothers Joachim and Erich Horsley, who both handle piano chores. The lineup is rounded out by drummer Sergio Bellotti and session musicians which have included the likes of Tower of Power. Little Horse’s safe blend of pop harmonies and Latin jazz may do very little in terms of taking any broad risks or making any bold artistic statements, but the songs are irresistibly catchy, well played and deliciously overproduced. This album started out not being my cup of tea, and now continues to grow as a guilty pleasure! littlehorsemusic.com (Joel Simches)
ROCKTOPUS
Something Fierce
13 songs
I don’t know, man-this shit is just too clean for me. Like squeaky clean. Like if your little nephew was having a birthday party, you could hire these guys to be the house band and no kiddies would be warped in any way at all. And the name, folks-too easy a target, but it’s also damned misleading; you don’t expect a band named Rocktopus to sound like XTC on Ecstasy. And you know what? That’s a damn fine thing to sound like, and if my psyche weren’t so far beyond redemption as the result of early exposure to Black Sabbath, I’d eat this up like ice cream. But it would be vanilla ice cream. Which I like, but I like something mixed in there, you know? Like a Motorhead cover or something. A couple of tracks have a little crunch, like “Get Away,” but it’s all played so slickly, with production values to match, that it doesn’t make me want to get another tattoo, which real rock usually does. At their smooth-but-almost-rocky moments, I can almost picture them playing in a bar, but it would probably be a bar with a dress code. (Tim Emswiler)
WILMA
Circling Buzzard Records
Rock the Box
12 songs
I have to say up front that I’ve been feeling particularly grouchy and out-of-sorts lately, and that is no condition to be in when faced with the musical offspring of Joan Jett & the Blackhearts and The B-52’s. But I’ll be damned if that isn’t the best description I can come up with. Singer/bassist Amy Marshall has fine pipes and could probably carry a heavier dose of heaviness from the music-hell, she was named after a stack of amps. But this is some harmless stuff, and I don’t mean that in a particularly nice way. Maybe Wilma could double-bill with Rocktopus. (You DO read every review in each issue, right?) Guitarist John Marshall slings a pretty mean axe, when he gets a mind to, but he could really benefit from a stack of those amps with his name on them, turned way the fuck up. Oh, and the lyrics-never, ever write a song called “50 Years of Rock ‘n’ Roll” with a chorus of “Rock ‘n’ roll, it don’t get old.” Never. Unless you’re Motorhead. Or my dad. Yeah. If my dad did it, it would be cool. (Tim Emswiler)
HIGH SCHOOL MUSTACHE
Hilltop
Things That Were Blue
7 songs
Rarely does the cover evoke what’s going on inside so dramatically. A black & white photo of a dilapidated farmhouse against a cold, starless sky, windows boarded up, surrounded by dead trees. It’s terrifying and heartbreaking at once, like your own saddest memories, or a coyote howling at a blood-orange moon from an icy cliff. One wonders how the light needed to take the picture wasn’t sucked into the same quietly staggering emotional abyss from which the music came. I love this record with every molecule I own, like I love everything I can’t have, every chick who never understood me, every lucky break I lost through my own stupidity, and if I’m pouring my guts out, it’s because these guys are. They’ve got what they’re doing down to sciences yet undiscovered. Break out all your “sparse” and “haunting” adjectives, because you’ll need ’em. Acoustic and slide guitars are almost all that’s required to convey such simple, lonely lyrics as, “I can’t believe / What you’re saying to me / …Sure, I believed you then, but / …I was just a kid / Tryin’ to find my way,” which would of course fail miserably in lesser hands. Amazingly, some of this dates back to 1973, but you’d never know it. Please play out, gentlemen. (Joe Coughlin)
ALABAMA FRANK & THE HOT COTTAGE BAND
Black Rose
Euphoric Recall
19 songs
Veteran guitarist “Alabama” Frank O’Brien has played over the last thirty years with the likes of Otis Rush, Buddy Miles, Luther “Guitar Jr.” Johnson and many more blues and R&B; notables. Sadly Alabama Frank died suddenly while this album was being finished. Contained here is some heartfelt, old school R&B;, Memphis blues and timeless proto-surf instrumentals of classics written by the likes of Peter Green, Kim Fowley, Booker T. Jones, Ray Charles and many others. This album covers many moods, many styles and many genres, but the constant is O’Brien’s solid, heartfelt guitar playing and the timeless production quality of this disc. Listening to Euphoric Recall makes me wish I’d known more about this guitar legend. Perhaps this album will not only serve as a fitting tribute to this man’s passion for the guitar, but also serve as the young person’s guide to Alabama Frank. Enjoy. alabamafrank.com (Joel Simches)
MOONSHOT
Sugartone Records
This Won’t Last
7 songs
It’s tempting to make jokes about the album title, but the fact is, this will last. Upbeat, jangly-type, pseudo-sensitive indie slush has been hangin’ around since “Radio Free Europe” first gargled its way onto the airwaves, so there’s no reason to think it’s going away. This is so crowd-pleasingly by-numbers, I suspect they ran the tunes through that “hit-making” software I heard about that comes back with all these demographic-type results designed to help you whittle your stuff down to satisfy the largest possible niche market. (And if that’s an just an urban legend, someone’ll design it soon enough). Half of me really wants to get behind ’em, because I know how much fun it can be to PLAY, even if you’re just jamming on Yo La Tengo covers. And sure, there’s energy here, and lots of effort behind the writing, playing, arrangements, and production, but it just seems geared to the every-kid in the baseball cap with the Bud Light who’ll pretty much nod along to anything that doesn’t make him look like a fag to his friends. There ain’t a goddamn thing wrong with this record, and that’s what’s wrong with it. Common denominators don’t get much lower. Five bucks says they win the Rumble next year. (Joe Coughlin)
KRUSHR
Bubbachoke Records
Krushr
7 songs
Krushr sure know how to rock. They hail from Allston Rock City and play Providence and New York. Their music alternates between Social Distortion and Paul Westerberg in terms of pop sensibility, but the vocals are mighty shaky. With some of the more rocking numbers, this is actually an asset, because vocalist Gary Rand can really belt it out. When he tries to be more melodically adventurous, he sounds like Ray Davies with a head cold. Krushr has a tough time deciding whether to play fast or slow. Songs like “Anything” and “Pullin’ All My Strings” have such a great grind to them the more uptempo songs like “Bad Advice” and “Swan” sound forced and uncomfortable. Despite the fact that these guys have been around since 1999 (albeit under the moniker Buzzbomb), it seems that Krushr are still finding their feet. krushr.com (Joel Simches)
FORCEFIELD
Load Records
Roggaboggas
17 “songs”
“Load” records, indeed. This is some haw-haw collective of performance-art types, wearing throw rugs and mop-wigs on the cover, playing oscillators, loops and video game sound effects, and it sucks harder than a two-dollar crack whore. The first “number” is a one-note synth fart, held for a solid minute. And it’s the best thing on here. There are long stretches that sound like leaky faucets, tests of the Emergency Broadcast System, and elderly people coughing up hairballs. Six tracks and twenty minutes in, you finally hear a beat, not that a beat could redeem this catastrophe. Almost looks like they’re selling it as a sci-fi concept album, but there are no vocals or liner notes, and even the press sheet is one big, pointless Fuck-You to the general public. They list fake names (smart move), and thank a buncha people with fake names too. These guys should learn that the bigger the in-joke, the less funny it is. To think that they actually sat around attaching song titles to this puddle of misery is mind-blowing. Someone sank big money into the thing, but there’s no way that even the band members listen to it. Helen Keller could make a better record in her sleep, and she’s dead. Honestly, these people should be ashamed. (Joe Coughlin)
LINCOLN CONSPIRACY
Details Are Everything
12 songs
This just ain’t my lucky month for getting decent CDs to review, as I’m stuck with back-to-back cheesy college rock bands, this time in the Ben Folds Five-meets-Semisonic vein. Piano driven and with a penchant for Wings-style embellishments and Steely Dan grooves, Lincoln Conspiracy are another band that isn’t bad but is far from good, which makes my job as a reviewer a nightmare. This music is just so nothing-no heart, soul, balls or bloodlust. They sound like they’re shooting for a smooth ’70s AM gold sound not unlike early Chicago ballads and like they’re sincere and have good intentions, but the vibe is antiseptic, lacking in solid hooks, and gives the impression that they sacrificed passion for an academic stab at song craft. To be fair, they’re talented musicians, the production is really good, the songs are all very listenable and flow together well as a cohesive album, but Details Are Everything sounds like the kind of album a decent wedding band would make if they decided to write original tunes. They sound so bent on pleasing everybody that they ultimately please nobody, which in my book qualifies Lincoln Conspiracy as an utter waste of time. (Mike Baldino)
THE TIE REDS
Holy Crap!
It’s The Tie Reds
13 songs
I couldn’t help but be attracted to the aesthetic qualities of this band’s album. With a quirky title and the scrappiness of their insert (complete with jean-clad crotch-shots of the members) I was already in love.
The Tie Reds make for some perfect pogo partying. Their music could be summed up as two-minute wonders with cute “ooh ahh!” and “go baby go “‘ back-ups behind lazy power chords and simplistic beats, a-la The Ramones. But besides the energy and earnestness of members “Hoops,” TeriLea, Alessandra, and Nate Red, there is nothing special.
“Drive Me Crazy” has the simplicity of a great old-fashioned surf song, and there’s something endearing in how they eagerly invite you to “put up your fists” during “Put Up Your Gloves.” Yet if we’d only been invited to participate in these festivities once or twice, I might not be so anxious to smash their adorable little faces (err, crotches?) in.
By song eight or nine, it’s impossible to distinguish one track from another. The album feels too junior-high-school-dance. You know- the less than hip DJ commanding you to “shake, clap, and jump around” to tunes like “Electric Slide.” And hearing them use the same damn keyboard progression over and over and over and….oh, sorry, was that getting repetitious? It’s bands such as this that sadden our current “garage rock revival.” If rock was truly this dead when we started, I wish we’d left it in the grave. (Lisa Herforth-Hebbert)
ORBITING RILEY
Trampled In Grace
10 songs
There is a great reason why I stopped listening to WAAF and WBCN several years ago: Creed. Here’s another one: Nickelback. And one for good measure: Staind. It’s bad enough these candy-ass, pseudo-heavy metal bands became famous, what’s worse is that they’ve reproduced! Maybe Orbiting Riley hate Creed as much as I do, and are operating under the illusion that they are blazing their own path in rock music. Or maybe they are well aware of how potentially commercial this malarkey is and just did a very good job of calculating their overall schmaltz effect for maximum depressed-overly-emotional-teenager-appeal. Either way Trampled In Grace is one boring and unappealing record. Orbiting Riley sing emotional, heartfelt, nauseating songs, many of which (too many) are slow to boot. Usually, soporific pap such as this would put me right to sleep, but the singing and the laughable attempts at poetic lyrics are so amazingly irritating that I can’t even relax. Trampled In Grace is an ideal torture device, it may replace the more common beatings used by dictatorships around the world. I don’t think I’ve been so riled up and angered by an album as limp and flaccid as this one in a long time. (L’Aretino)
SEAN SPADA
Sinks and Sparks
11 songs
Some people make art that doesn’t call attention to itself. This CD screams “Okay I’m being an artist now… look at me! NOW!” There are times when this CD is brilliant. Sean Spada is a truly gifted pianist and singer, but these songs meander aimlessly and indulge themselves to the point of utter frivolity. The varied stream-of-thought sections in the music are well written, but there is little to connect one idea to the next. The whole starts to sound like a student recital: eager to please with loads of technique and style, but little substance or emotion. There is no journey of discovery being taken within these songs, just a lot of scales and vocal acrobatics. Such a shame. seanspada.com (Joel Simches)
SOULFÈGE ASAFO
Productions
The Black Rose Project
15 songs
This starts with a clearly excited Soul Sistah running down the benefits of the record you’re playing, over some reasonably saucy funk, including all the styles you’re about to hear, the names and hometowns of the musicians (with shout-outs from the guys themselves), and a shitload of reasons why you’ll helplessly shake dat booty any second now. God forbid you should decide for yourself. I’m seriously put off, but the music’s okay, so I cut ’em the slack for having some ego about it. But what happens next is 90% tender love ballads like you hear on the all-night college radio black shows. (The reggae-tinged number is NOT reggae, no matter what they say in the intro.) Granted, it’s all flawless, with horns and choirs and big-assed arrangements, and there are some truly classy, candle-lit Motown moments. But it just ain’t the orgy of ass they’re saying it is. I had to wonder why they sent it to a mainly white crap-rock mag in the first place. (Despite all your claims of “diversity,” I know that very few of you REALLY like Public Enemy, or would be caught dead supporting these guys.) The funk only returns on the tacky outro, with Sistah explaining that the record’s over now. I’ll give ’em the same advice I’d give anyone: Do what you do, and shut the fuck up. (Joe Coughlin)
THE MODELES
The Modeles
9 songs
The Modeles sound like one of those cheesy Sublime-inspired post-grunge ripoff bands that play to the bartender on weeknights at The Skybar. Judging by the bassist’s overuse of auto-wah/ envelope filter effects, I’m guessing he plays a 5-string slung somewhere around his nipples. The band is catchy enough in that innocuous college jam band way and is not without musical talent (particularly the drummer), but choruses like “You’re my girl/ You make me twirl/ You’re my whore/ You’ll give me more/ You’re my bitch/ That I’ll never switch” won’t endear them to anyone with a modicum of taste. “Dear Dog” not only reaches bold new heights of lyrical craptitude, but also raises disturbing questions about the singer’s personal life: “Dear dog, you kiss so well you make my girlfriend mad I’d like to have you over for some tea and biscuits of the Milk Bone variety I wish that you could talk so when we walk you could teach me how to be more like you Dear dog, you kiss so good I think my girlfriend understood and she left me to be with you, but that’s okay ’cause you’re a better kisser anyway.” The back cover art shows the band walking a lonely highway towards routes 30 and 2A; I’m not sure what it is that folks do for kicks in that neck of the woods, but if “Dear Dog” is any indication, I don’t really want to know. (Mike Baldino)
THE FIZZ
Ruby Records
Fink
16 songs
This record is about as generic as they come. Laced throughout with sophomoric bits of ska surrounded by loads of stale bubble gum, this purulent wad is difficult to chew, and impossible (if not deadly) swallow. It is the kind of oft-chewed bubble gum that invariably ends up hardening on the underside of a public bench amongst the vagrant snot and mysterious DNA. Bazooka Joe aside, the production is crisp and polished. The unexpected inclusion of Madonna’s “Material Girl” has my eyebrow raised, although I am strangely aroused in a guilty sort of way. I am briefly excited that I have found my newest drink coaster, but I decide that men singing Madonna might warrant an extra listen or two in the distant future. I am sure there are a few toothless teenyboppers that may enjoy this release, but alas, like the forgotten Diet Coke on my desk, The Fizz is quite gone. What’s the old jingle? “Plop, plop, Fizz, fizz?” And as this CD closes…”Oh what a relief it is…” (Fuzzy Shackles)
PLASTIC BIRD
Cedeno Records
Swim
10 songs
This release by the former Atlanta Georgians is heavily front-loaded-the classic case of a disc starting out firing on all cylinders and gradually losing steam. The first few songs have hooks and interesting guitar and drum parts all over the place. “My Favorite Song” has a wacky arpeggio guitar thing happening and Cobain inspired vocals. Oddly enough, Rob Roemer changes into Matthew Sweet halfway through, especially on “Big Grand Prize.” I really loved the beginning of “Sick.” It begins with an interesting guitar part and then wrecks my day by transitioning into the same chug-chug guitar style as a number of the other songs. As the end approaches, this collection of ten songs begins to take on a sameness. By the final chords I’m ready to throw it out the window. It’s a shame because I think these guys are really onto something. I’d give them another release to hone what they’re doing, and by that point they should be a force of nature. Until then, I’ll listen to half of it and treat Swim as a really good EP. plasticbird.com (Shady)
THE MERCY BEAT
Shine
17 songs
First of all, I’m not sure if it’s just my CD player, but this album has this annoying high end digital swishing noise that plays over every song on this disc. While this may color my reaction to these songs, it doesn’t change the fact that this CD is a pointlessly bland recording by people who listen to a lot of classic rock and mainstream eighties alternative. The members of the Mercy Beat tout such influences as diverse as Nick Cave, Bill Lazwell, Miles Davis, Ozzy, Iggy Pop, Steve Miller, Alice Cooper, and Perry Farrel, just to name a few. Unfortunately the result of this mishmash of styles is mindnumbingly dull. The songs drift by riddled with lyrical clichés and uninspired retreads of everything that was ever hip before, filtered through the soul of a middle-aged Holiday Inn wedding band. I should know I’ve been there and done that… years ago. themercybeat.net (Joel Simches)
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