Los Straitjackets – Rock En Espanol Volume One
With their identities safely obscured behind lucha libre wrestler masks, Los Straitjackets revive the raw surge of early 60’s instrumental garage bands: the thick bottoms of big beat drums, a feisty bouncing bass, and a pair of attacking, slashing guitars. However, here they’ve donned an additional tactical weapon – lyrics. With a ring corner now flooded with the heavyweight vocal assistance of Cesar Rosas of Los Lobos, the Fly-Rite Boys’ Big Sandy, East L.A. legend Little Willie G, and background harmonies by the Los Lonely Boys, The Los Straitjackets are irresistibly impressive in their Spanish language rock and roll tribute. With much of their focus on early vintage éxitos of Mexican garage acts (Los Teen Tops, Los Rockin’ Devils, etc), the disc is filled with Mexican translations of American hits. But don’t consider this a gimmicky disc of covers. Everything here is heartfelt and reminds you how glorious and wildly fun rock and roll should be.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Florida Funk
Various Artists – Florida Funk
British ears have always been far more appreciative to the trials and sounds of Black America then our present generation. English DJ’s turned collectors have dirtied knees and stained thumbs flipping through the dustiest of dusty 7 inch bins, just to find that rare Maltese Falcon groove. UK label Jazzman now turns its attention to the Deep South after its encyclopedic uncovering of Texas and Midwest funk. Florida, a bordering state to James Brown’s home base of Georgia, harvested a rich heritage of musicianship, partially due to the lively tourists’nightclubs. While national attention during this Civil Right era was still limited, local independent deals and distributions were the norm, and here we see the hefty overview of Florida’s super dynamite soul. With extensive linear notes and photos, you’ll be impressed with the complete sight and sound of this re-issued release. A thick bottomed swampy sound for upcoming hot summer nights.
British ears have always been far more appreciative to the trials and sounds of Black America then our present generation. English DJ’s turned collectors have dirtied knees and stained thumbs flipping through the dustiest of dusty 7 inch bins, just to find that rare Maltese Falcon groove. UK label Jazzman now turns its attention to the Deep South after its encyclopedic uncovering of Texas and Midwest funk. Florida, a bordering state to James Brown’s home base of Georgia, harvested a rich heritage of musicianship, partially due to the lively tourists’nightclubs. While national attention during this Civil Right era was still limited, local independent deals and distributions were the norm, and here we see the hefty overview of Florida’s super dynamite soul. With extensive linear notes and photos, you’ll be impressed with the complete sight and sound of this re-issued release. A thick bottomed swampy sound for upcoming hot summer nights.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Berg Sans Nipple
The Berg Sans Nipple – Along The Quai
Instrumental rock should have its own splinter cell within the over-reaching awning of indie rock. Where a band like Tortoise rattles at the edges of an electronic post-jazz world, groups like Godspeed You Black Emperor adapt instrumental rock as their medium for found art, evoking emotion responses rather than head banging hedonism. Enter the duo of Lori Sean Berg (a Frenchie) and Shane Aspegren (Nebraskan) who conjoin as The Berg Sans Nipple to present their own take on voice minimal recordings. With a percussive heavy center, The Berg Sans Nipple wrap their inventions with a veneer that can imply the dub undertones of a hazed-out Lee Scratch Perry to the polyrhythmic synthesize of Afrobeat. From an array of bells, keyboards, drums and drum machines, Berg Sans Nipple craft an album of electronic pop that positions their tentacles across a musical map, encompassing yet never a replica. A true treat.
Instrumental rock should have its own splinter cell within the over-reaching awning of indie rock. Where a band like Tortoise rattles at the edges of an electronic post-jazz world, groups like Godspeed You Black Emperor adapt instrumental rock as their medium for found art, evoking emotion responses rather than head banging hedonism. Enter the duo of Lori Sean Berg (a Frenchie) and Shane Aspegren (Nebraskan) who conjoin as The Berg Sans Nipple to present their own take on voice minimal recordings. With a percussive heavy center, The Berg Sans Nipple wrap their inventions with a veneer that can imply the dub undertones of a hazed-out Lee Scratch Perry to the polyrhythmic synthesize of Afrobeat. From an array of bells, keyboards, drums and drum machines, Berg Sans Nipple craft an album of electronic pop that positions their tentacles across a musical map, encompassing yet never a replica. A true treat.
Grinderman
Grinderman – Grinderman
If rock & roll is to be effective (i.e. disruptive to the elderly & cultural elite), it should feed off the same dense emotion that erupts wildly in puberty, with no concern for billboard status or myspace listens. Nick Cave shoved it in our faces with his 80’s Australian outfit Birthday Party, a noisy aggressive free-form collaboration whose inhospitable sound even today remains modern. 25 plus years later, Cave returns to this twisted explosion of American blues and avant punk, with a fraction of his Bad Seeds (Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey and Jim Sclavunos) keeping time. Luckily he’s frustration has never abated, as in the sexual devoid “No Pussy Blues”, and neither has he’s blistering guitar that slashes all over “Depth Charge Ethel.” This is a return to the punch, though a couple harrow hell dirges remain (“Man In The Moon”) to satisfy the moody Bad Seed fan. Defiantly, Cave enters fifty years with irascible and volcanic form.
If rock & roll is to be effective (i.e. disruptive to the elderly & cultural elite), it should feed off the same dense emotion that erupts wildly in puberty, with no concern for billboard status or myspace listens. Nick Cave shoved it in our faces with his 80’s Australian outfit Birthday Party, a noisy aggressive free-form collaboration whose inhospitable sound even today remains modern. 25 plus years later, Cave returns to this twisted explosion of American blues and avant punk, with a fraction of his Bad Seeds (Warren Ellis, Martyn Casey and Jim Sclavunos) keeping time. Luckily he’s frustration has never abated, as in the sexual devoid “No Pussy Blues”, and neither has he’s blistering guitar that slashes all over “Depth Charge Ethel.” This is a return to the punch, though a couple harrow hell dirges remain (“Man In The Moon”) to satisfy the moody Bad Seed fan. Defiantly, Cave enters fifty years with irascible and volcanic form.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Arcade Fire
Arcade Fire - Neon Bible (Merge)
With their second release, Neon Bible, Arcade Fire returns with their massive anthemic indie rock orchestration, colored with church pipe organs, a Hungarian choir, and enough brass to arm a military parade. Where their previous album navel-gazed at the tension swirling within their community (Funeral took its title from the passing of several family members), Neon Bible directs a bitter eye outward, peeking out from under the limiting black veil. Not that Neon Bible is a torturous affair of doom and gloom. Their dark cloud of melancholy is encapsulated by regal crescendos that topple over into complete grandiose stadium-filling boisterousness. From the early surge of opener “Black Mirror” and “Keep The Car Running” to the Springsteen vocalized “(Antichrist Television Blue)”, Neon Bible revives the lesson of album listening over single shuffling. While it may not captivate as instantly as their debut, each repeated consumption rewards with Arcade’s Fire-brand of triumphant theatrics.
With their second release, Neon Bible, Arcade Fire returns with their massive anthemic indie rock orchestration, colored with church pipe organs, a Hungarian choir, and enough brass to arm a military parade. Where their previous album navel-gazed at the tension swirling within their community (Funeral took its title from the passing of several family members), Neon Bible directs a bitter eye outward, peeking out from under the limiting black veil. Not that Neon Bible is a torturous affair of doom and gloom. Their dark cloud of melancholy is encapsulated by regal crescendos that topple over into complete grandiose stadium-filling boisterousness. From the early surge of opener “Black Mirror” and “Keep The Car Running” to the Springsteen vocalized “(Antichrist Television Blue)”, Neon Bible revives the lesson of album listening over single shuffling. While it may not captivate as instantly as their debut, each repeated consumption rewards with Arcade’s Fire-brand of triumphant theatrics.
Antibalas
When Fela Kuti merged the rhythmic groove of James Brown to his native country's Highlife sound, this was only part of the equation to a sound that still churns dance floors in hour long sweaty exhaustive delight. His legendary status revolved around uniting this intoxicating music with a political backbone explicitly concerning worldwide oppression. Taking this cue, Brooklyn-natives Antibalas are four records deep into inversing the infamous Funkadelic mantra: free your ass and your mind will follow. Their latest album Security keeps strong with their thick groove-laden mixture of blaring horns, propulsive polyrhythmic percussions, and guitar and keyboards punctuating like drums. What's new here is the arrival of the delicate ear of producer/mixer/multi-instrumentalist John McEntire (Tortoise, Stereolab). The addition of McEntire’s post-rock/jazz-fusion pedigree is utilized in tightening the complex orchestra arrangements, but now shined with swimmy electronic flutter and crisper production, adding the sparkling exotic twine to what is already a rich tapestry.
David Karsten Daniels
David Karsten Daniels – Sharp Teeth
While the gnashing teeth of the album cover may be offsetting, David Karsten Daniels album broods only in lyricism: an uncertainty in human relationships and religious ambiguity, the day time nightmares of an metaphysical mind. Or maybe that far too deep. Either way, what he has captured on his Sharp Teeth is rich with majestically arrangements and instrumentation that suggests his study of composition and free improvisation. With a crooning emotive timbre, he digs into each song with a simple opening approach, until the color of orchestration transform them into more fascinating structures. The bee humming strings on "Minnows" build until its clamorous release, exhaling a chorus of voices, cymbal crashes and upper register guitar picking. "I saw Jesus and the Devil, they looked just the same," he quips, turning the phrase into a song of understandable religious questioning. From start to finish, a worthy album waiting for discovery.
While the gnashing teeth of the album cover may be offsetting, David Karsten Daniels album broods only in lyricism: an uncertainty in human relationships and religious ambiguity, the day time nightmares of an metaphysical mind. Or maybe that far too deep. Either way, what he has captured on his Sharp Teeth is rich with majestically arrangements and instrumentation that suggests his study of composition and free improvisation. With a crooning emotive timbre, he digs into each song with a simple opening approach, until the color of orchestration transform them into more fascinating structures. The bee humming strings on "Minnows" build until its clamorous release, exhaling a chorus of voices, cymbal crashes and upper register guitar picking. "I saw Jesus and the Devil, they looked just the same," he quips, turning the phrase into a song of understandable religious questioning. From start to finish, a worthy album waiting for discovery.
Kings Of Leon
Kings Of Leon – Because Of The Time
Mama, hide your daughters. These wayward sons of a preacher man return, opening their third full length with a seven-minute slow boiling thumper entitled "Knocked Up", and then outfit the album with twelve more nuggets of muscular greasy rock. From the Southern roots of their Kentucky upbringing, The Kings Of Leon could easily shadow puppet the long hair gospel of the Allman Brother, a sound that filled much of their ear-catching debut. On "Because Of The Time" however, there is an expansive growth in the sheer size of their sound and influences. "Charmer" catches Caleb Followill gravely drawl inflected into biting yelps a la the Pixies’ Black Francis, while "My Party" adds punching drum rolls and angular attacking guitars to the post-punk leanings of Gang Of Four. Now armed with a stadium filling loudness (thank touring partner U2), The Kings Of Leon indulge in this new slickness with gusto.
Mama, hide your daughters. These wayward sons of a preacher man return, opening their third full length with a seven-minute slow boiling thumper entitled "Knocked Up", and then outfit the album with twelve more nuggets of muscular greasy rock. From the Southern roots of their Kentucky upbringing, The Kings Of Leon could easily shadow puppet the long hair gospel of the Allman Brother, a sound that filled much of their ear-catching debut. On "Because Of The Time" however, there is an expansive growth in the sheer size of their sound and influences. "Charmer" catches Caleb Followill gravely drawl inflected into biting yelps a la the Pixies’ Black Francis, while "My Party" adds punching drum rolls and angular attacking guitars to the post-punk leanings of Gang Of Four. Now armed with a stadium filling loudness (thank touring partner U2), The Kings Of Leon indulge in this new slickness with gusto.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Neil Young
Neil Young – Live At Massey Hall 1971
This year sees the arrival of what numerous Neil Young fans have buzzed
and clamored about for decades: the opening of Shakey's archival vaults. This second live release follows the first by months, and spotlights Neil Young under the lights of Toronto's Massey Hall in 1971, alone, shifting between his emotional and intricate guitar strumming and less acknowledged skilled piano playing. Preceding the arrival of what would become his biggest commercial release, 1972's Harvest, the audience (and now us) are treated to the earliest performances of what become future standards: Old Man, A Man Needs A Maid, Heart Of Gold, plus six more tracks that found their debut on this night. With a voice that could be as fragile and as clear as a thin pane of glass, the acoustics captured are unbelievable clean, outclassing possibly any bootleg in existence previous to this. A definite must have new and young fans alike.
This year sees the arrival of what numerous Neil Young fans have buzzed
and clamored about for decades: the opening of Shakey's archival vaults. This second live release follows the first by months, and spotlights Neil Young under the lights of Toronto's Massey Hall in 1971, alone, shifting between his emotional and intricate guitar strumming and less acknowledged skilled piano playing. Preceding the arrival of what would become his biggest commercial release, 1972's Harvest, the audience (and now us) are treated to the earliest performances of what become future standards: Old Man, A Man Needs A Maid, Heart Of Gold, plus six more tracks that found their debut on this night. With a voice that could be as fragile and as clear as a thin pane of glass, the acoustics captured are unbelievable clean, outclassing possibly any bootleg in existence previous to this. A definite must have new and young fans alike.
I'm From Barcelona
I’m From Barcelona – Let Me Introduce My Friends
From the first exuberant burst of this Swedish ensemble’s debut (sorry, no lispy Spaniards here), you’ll hear sunshiny harmonization, the plinking of a toy piano, and the massive lift off of an indie-pop symphony that counts 29 heads as members. With cheerfully good spirited choruses and lyrics that eye the mundane with childlike spectacles - tree houses, stamp collecting, and chicken pox all serving as stimulus- you’ll very well bop your way to the closest playground or soda jerk with the widest smile. But this is more than a kid’s summer camp creation. With the big hat positioned atop of ring leader / songwriter Emanuel Lundgren head, he’s crafted an enthusiastic full length, surging with rousing horn blares, cinematic enriching strings, a galvanizing youthful choir, and kazoos even. With impeccable duty, I’m From Barcelona delivers an album gorgeous in arrangement and production, and constrained to a perfect 40 minute mark that’s instantly replayable.
From the first exuberant burst of this Swedish ensemble’s debut (sorry, no lispy Spaniards here), you’ll hear sunshiny harmonization, the plinking of a toy piano, and the massive lift off of an indie-pop symphony that counts 29 heads as members. With cheerfully good spirited choruses and lyrics that eye the mundane with childlike spectacles - tree houses, stamp collecting, and chicken pox all serving as stimulus- you’ll very well bop your way to the closest playground or soda jerk with the widest smile. But this is more than a kid’s summer camp creation. With the big hat positioned atop of ring leader / songwriter Emanuel Lundgren head, he’s crafted an enthusiastic full length, surging with rousing horn blares, cinematic enriching strings, a galvanizing youthful choir, and kazoos even. With impeccable duty, I’m From Barcelona delivers an album gorgeous in arrangement and production, and constrained to a perfect 40 minute mark that’s instantly replayable.
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