Nostalgic for Now: Pop Commentary

People, my people: it is my distinct pleasure to introduce you all to the Midwest’s finest music + culture publication, TRACER Magazine. Amanda and I, in conjunction with several other extremely talented individuals, have been working on TRACER for the last couple of months and we are now ready to share our efforts with all of our friends!

The magazine’s forthcoming first issue will feature my interviews with Islands, The Dead Trees and The Little Ones, along with tons of other great material. Amanda and I will both be blogging on TRACER’s website, which will also feature new album reviews on a weekly basis.

The Midwest is not devoid of quality music, just quality music coverage. Help us change that.

My review of Okkervil River’s Covington, KY performance is COMING SOON! For now, enjoy a copy of their setlist.

— Curt Whitacre

This review original appeared in the pages of PAUSE Magazine.

If the latest effort from the Kooks is any indication, then Britpop is alive and well in Brighton. Hailing from the same coastal city that brought us fellow postmodern-throwbacks the Go! Team and the Pipettes, the Kooks present an infectious collection of British guitar-pop on their latest release. Konk, the band’s second full-length, is filled with the same dancey rock ‘n roll that made international stars out of the Kaiser Chiefs and Supergrass. The Kooks’ don’t exactly reinvent the wheel with Konk, but that doesn’t seem to be their intention. Instead, the lads seem content to put a fresh coat of paint and some new chrome onto dad’s Vespa and take it out for a ride.

Luke Pritchard (vocals, guitar), Hugh Harris (guitar) and Paul Garred (drums), along with the recently exited Max Rafferty (bass), aren’t shy about letting their influences show. The band draws their name from a little-known Bowie song and has served as an opening act for the Rolling Stones, while Konk itself is an indirect reference to The Kinks (via Konk Studios, which happens to belong to Kinks frontman Ray Davies). These allusions should give you a good idea of the kind of sound that the Kooks strive for. The band owes just as much to the initial wave of Britpop bands, though, and Konk itself feels a little bit like Parklife‘s younger, lovesick brother.

The songs on Konk are occasionally formulaic, but there are enough interesting nuances (such as the shoegazing guitar flourishes on “Gap” and the off-kilter solos on “See The Sun” that recall the guitar work of Ash’s Tim Wheeler) to make the album a worthwhile listen. I’m not sure what to make of the Franz Ferdinand knock-off, “Do You Wanna,” which sounds a bit like a safe, less ambitious reinterpretation of, you guessed it, FF’s “Do You Want To.” The remaining tracks on Konk are never that derivative, though, and there are several highlights in the album’s latter half (particularly “Down To The Market”) that make the entire affair consistently entertaining. The Kooks may be fueled by nostalgia, but their latest effort is still a satisfying listen.

— Curt Whitacre

Once a week, Spinning Plates examines an essential “long player,” an album worth listening through from the first note to the last.

The gap between Rubber Soul and Revolver was little more than half a year, but by 1966 The Beatles seemed preternaturally hell bent on blazing trails and redefining popular culture.

Revolver captures a band exercising its creative muscles and pushing its own compositional skills to the limit. That the album will always play second fiddle to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is both justified and unfortunate. That a band could release both albums within the span of one year is amazing.

Sgt. Pepper’s is a stronger work, as a whole, but what makes Revolver so great is the strength of the individual songs. The unabashed pop of “Taxman” and “Good Day Sunshine,” the melancholic chamber music of “Eleanor Rigby,” the psychedelic folk of “I’m Only Sleeping,” the acid rocker “She Said, She Said,” the Brit-pop template laid by “Got to Get You Into My Life” and the alien sonic landscape explored in “Tomorrow Never Knows” have, in and of themselves, inspired countless artists and recordings. This is Lennon and McCartney’s lyricism at its very best. The songs lack the pretension that crept into later works (particularly on The Beatles, otherwise referred to as “The White Album”). At this point in their career(s), The Beatles were as fascinated with the possibilities inherent within their music as their fans. Together, the songs of Revolver create one of the cultural touchstones of the mid-to-late twentieth century. The center would not hold for long, though, and in three brief years, the band would dissolve and popular music would never quite be the same again.

— Curt Whitacre

Once a week, Spinning Plates examines an essential “long player,” an album worth listening through from the first note to the last.

I had purchased Seven Swans after falling to the charms of Illinois, but it sat unheard in my apartment for many weeks before I mustered up the strength to give the thing a listen to. It was, as I recall, a particularly warm Sunday morning in early October. Considering the previous night, I had woken up earlier than I should have and was trying to make the most of my hang-over. On a whim, I loaded Seven Swans into my iPod and decided to take a morning walk around Clifton to blow off the proverbial “stink.” Within five or six minutes, the album had lifted up my weary spirit and cleared the cobwebs from behind my eyes. It’s a rare thing to be profoundly affected by music in such a way. I had underestimated Stevens.

“All the Trees of the Field Will Clap Their Hands” is an interesting, if not particularly moving, opening for Seven Swans. It was the album’s second song, though, that first caught my attention. “The Dress Looks Nice On You,” with its tender lyrics and swelling refrain, easily matches any of the bombast from Illinois in terms of emotional power. The album carries on with a simple, understated eloquence and rarely lags in the way that other albums by Stevens have a tendency to. It’s hard to believe that, of all of his work, this has come to be my favorite. It’s hard not to find some beauty in “He Woke Me Up Again,” though. The album mines the folk and gospel traditions for all of their best attributes and the result is, I daresay, a life-affirming and faith restoring masterpiece.

— Curt Whitacre

This review originally appeared in the pages of PAUSE Magazine.

Becoming All Things is a collection of hearty, introspective rock and roll full of musings and meanderings on the baffling minutia of everyday life. Opener “Snow in Berlin” is by far this album’s most enjoyable listen if you are looking for a laid back, “Indie/Western Swing/Melodramatic Popular Song,” which is how Zookeeper describes their sound. Chris Simpson, Zookeeper’s vocalist, songwriter and general mastermind, delivers a style that is at the very least intriguing. Becoming All Things is filled with strange and surreal lyrical landscapes, weighty crescendos and a flair for the musically unique. At most, there is real depth in the lyrics, and a sort of musical interpretation of the world around us.

The album loses momentum considerably with “On Madison Way’s” slow tempo, safe drumbeats, discordant rhythm guitar and Simpson’s own long, drawn out vocals. The lyrics seem to be reveling in a feeling of listlessness: “As science soothes us with what’s already happening / How every dream deflated empties / These junkyard ships will never even touch that sea / Can’t you see?” Unfortunately, what follows is “Trumpets,” which had me comparing the sound to an actual “pop” song, what with its safe and almost adult contemporary feel. “Ballad of My Friends” tries to recapture some of the magic of “Snow in Berlin,” but there isn’t much originality to the Wilco-esque, solid Americana sound of it. There is a quiet moment of repose with “Boy and the Street Choir,” and I appreciate the quietly raining cymbals, soft drumbeats and vocals reminiscent of The Decemberists’ Colin Meloy.

We are ushered forward with “Al Kooper’s Party,” which is an instrumental, one-minute interlude of Ray Manzarek style keyboarding and sixties-esque grooving. Then its on to the charging “Everyone’s a DJ,” “On High,” and the title track, “Becoming All Things,” which I felt were all proof of the potential Zookeeper has on future albums. Of course, I like all these tracks for different reasons, but that’s because they all deliver at least a bit of polished musical adeptness and lyrical complexity. Of special note is the calming guitar and slow, bedtime, full moon lilt of “On High.” There is an oblique romantic charm to this song, with pretty horns and soulful piano that give it a softly sweet quality. The aptly named “Becoming All Things” follows, and could have been the better choice for a closer. It’s evidence of the skill with which Simpson, et al create complex and moving compositions, complete with an open ambiance, almost as though you should be listening to it outside. Instead, “Born with Things To Do” is the final offering, and a last shot at the chilled out country rock that got me going in the beginning.

— Amanda Carnes

This review originally appeared in the pages of PAUSE Magazine.

There’s certainly no shortage of bombast on Delayer, the latest release from Oakland, California’s The Heavenly States. With only a fraction of similar groups’ manpower, the trio of Ted Nesseth (guitar, vocals), Jeremy Gagon (drums) and Genevieve Gagon (violin, keyboards) create a sound that recalls the likes of Wilco or The E-Street Band, all without ever coming off as derivative. Despite their considerable talents, though, it seems as if The Heavenly States don’t always know how best to use that musical energy once they’ve harnessed it.

Despite its hesitant title, Delayer comes out of the gate running. Album opener “Morning Exercise” kicks off the affair with swirling keyboards, propulsive guitars and earnest vocal harmonies. Above this sonic bed, Nesseth proclaims, “This goes on the record, it hurts so bad,” an early moment of self-reflection that could very well double as the album’s de facto mission statement. Delayer is lined with emotional trials such as this, although they won’t always be as coherent and captivating as they are here.

One song into the album, The Heavenly States stumble with “System’s” uninspired guitar histrionics and grating two-part harmonies, nearly crippling any momentum gained by the opening track. The band quickly recover, thanks to the straight ahead rock of “Lost in the Light,” a song punctuated by “whoa-ohs” and tambourine shakes that could easily have been written by Mellencamp or Springsteen during their heyday. Nevertheless, the damage has been done and the album’s central problem has been exposed: the same energy that fuels tracks like “Morning Exercise,” “Lost in the Light,” and the Uncle Tupelo-tinged southern stomp of “Never Be Alright” causes other songs to flounder.

Some of the best moments on this, the band’s third full length, are the quiet ones. The arrangements on Delayer grow more ambitious as the album hits its mid-point. The instrumentation on “Sun Chase Moon” and “Butterflies” rises and falls while Nesseth recounts tales of loss and longing. His voice is put to good use here. If there is a weak link in Delayer, it is Nesseth’s occasional inability to vocally match the dynamism of the rest of the band. There is nothing particularly distinctive about Nesseth’s vocals and his singing occasionally comes off as flat and inexpressive. When the band is on, though, as they are on many of these tracks, they’re definitely worth a listen. With Delayer, The Heavenly States have crafted a flawed, yet ultimately satisfying rock ‘n roll album.

— Curt Whitacre

Once a week, Spinning Plates examines an essential “long player,” an album worth listening through from the first note to the last.

With XO, Elliott Smith deserved to be a household name. Of course things didn’t work out that way, but there’s no denying that this album (more so than any of Smith’s other efforts) had the potential for pop-greatness. Take one part Nick Drake and one part Revolver/Rubber Soul era Beatles and the result is a bittersweet exploration of addiction and loneliness.

“Sweet Adeline” kicks off the album beautifully. While not quite as powerful as suicide ballad “Needle In The Hay,”which kicks off Smith’s self-titled album, “Sweet Adeline” is no less stunning. With XO’s opener, the dread atmosphere of “Needle…” though, is replaced by a more aggressive form of regret and disappointment. Knowing the eventual outcome of Smith’s life, it’s hard not to be affected when he closes the song, longing for “any situation where I’m better off than dead.”

The remarkable thing about XO is the way the album celebrates the melancholy, rather than dwelling in it. That may seem like a particularly trite observation when dealing with a clinically depressed and suicidal singer/songwriter, but one cannot deny the fact that “Tomorrow, Tomorrow,” “Waltz #2 (XO)” and “Baby Britain” are all painfully beautiful. The album never really regains its grandeur after the first four songs have passed, but the remaining tracks are still strong, if not as cohesive as the first fourth of the album. All and all, a stunning work from an under appreciated artist.

— Curt Whitacre

Once a week, Spinning Plates examines an essential “long player,” an album worth listening through from the first note to the last.

Long before Natalie Portman famously proclaimed that The Shins would “change your life,” the quartet (now a quintet) were just another indie rock band making a stop at Kentucky’s Southgate House. It was shortly after the release of 2001’s Oh, Inverted World, but years before the McDonald’s and Gap commercials and Gilmore Girls appearances would make The Shins a household name. A friend of mine, who had been raving about The Shins since he had seen them open for Modest Mouse a year or so earlier, persuaded me to check out their live show. It can occasionally be difficult for me to really get into a live performance if I have absolutely no familiarity with the band, so my expectations for the evening were somewhat low. It was an amazing sensation, then, to quickly come to the realization that I had found one of the most important bands in my life within the span of a single set.

With roughly 25 people in the audience, The Shins took the stage. Despite catcalls from a pair of drunks in the balcony (why they wanted to hear The Shins’ rendition of “Freebird,” I’ll never know), the show was utterly brilliant from beginning to end. James Mercer’s voice seemed to carry the weight of the world, while the soft-glow of the band’s sound recalled the best Brian Wilson songs you’ve never heard. By the time the band’s brief set had come to an end, I had completely renewed faith in the vitality of new music.

Chutes Too Narrow is a better album. The production is stronger and the songs are much less homogeneous (Mercer had a tendency to bury his vocals in the mix of earlier Shins recordings). Nevertheless, if there is one Shins album to fully absorb, it is Oh Inverted World. The LP is like a time capsule from an idyllic summer gone by. Every track is a bedroom-pop masterpiece with breezy arrangements and fuzzy sonics bouying Mercer’s sweetly melancholic lyrical observations.

I started my final year of undergraduate study the day after seeing The Shins on that warm August night in 2001. Songs like “New Slang,” “Past & Pending,” and “Pressed in a Book” had hungover in my head from the night before, setting the tone for the uncertainty that was to come as the real world quickly approached. The Shins have grown at great deal in the ensuing years and I would like to think that I have, too. Nevertheless, every time I put on Oh Inverted World, I am transported back to that last, golden summer of youth. In some ways, it still hasn’t ended.

— Curt Whitacre

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks (Newport, KY): Last Sunday marked the third time that I’ve seen Stephen Malkmus and his Jicks perform live and in concert. It had been several years since I had seen the band, though, so I was very excited to get the opportunity to rekindle my relationship with the band. While his studio output has been a good enough indication that Malkmus is a continually evolving artist, this concept was quickly confirmed on Sunday.

To be continued! 

— Curt Whitacre