Hot Wax: Veda Hille’s This Riot Life

The full version of this review appears in the pages of TRACER Magazine.

Maybe I’m not accustomed to art-rock, and maybe I just don’t get it. Fine, but if you’re like me and you’re into music that offers consistent melodies that demand more from your sense of hearing than your, shall we say, encyclopedic lexicon of spiritual-journey musings, Veda Hille’s new album, This Riot Life, isn’t for you. Is there a guitar somewhere in there? Yes, but it’s buried, and lives in the background, with the barely audible drums. Are there more orchestral moments and dramatic vocals, often spoken rather than sung here? Yes. There is a heavy dose of insight on topics such as “heaven and earth,” a “love divine,” “Emmanuel,” and “the kid of God”. But the music is troubling, and not pleasing to the ear, although that could be because I demand a certain amount of formality from my songs when it comes to their structure. This Riot Life offers a cascade of tunes that sound like the orchestra’s sheet music for a community theater’s latest experimental play.

So, that being said, obviously I found very little to get excited about when it comes to Veda Hille. I’ve read plenty of praise in doing research for this review, but “I will not martyr” when it comes to this album. The album opener, “Lucklucky,” has a promising musical palette – plucking on a violin, which to my ears sounds like a West African mbira or finger piano instead of a violin – very nice, steady yet light percussion, a defiant horn part, and intriguing lyrics, e.g. “There is the place you know / there is the place you don’t know…there is where I did this, there is where I did that / It took thirty years to draw this map.” However, on the rest of the album there is nary a song that is similar to “Lucklucky,” not lyrically, vocally, or musically.

Veda Hille and her cohorts on this album, a 12-piece “band” (re: orchestra), plies the listener with life’s bigger questions and music that is composed seemingly with the goal of broadening your horizons. She actually demands that you “Grab your coat and your popular music / We’re taking it to the streets.” The high-energy “Ace Of The Nazarene,” sounds too much like a mega-church sing-a-long complete with lines that ruminate on searching for life’s meaning through “Christ,” accompanied by violin, light, (though pounding now) drums and bass, and the arguably off-key sound of Hille’s voice. She has been compared to art-pop musicians Tori Amos and Ani DiFranco, but I have to say those comparisons ring true only compared with her emotional and cerebral gravitas and piano, Amos’ mode of musicianship, and the soliloquy-esque vocal stylings that are DiFranco’s m.o. Beyond that, I believe Amos and DiFranco have produced material, even on their early albums, that for their musical originality, songwriting skills, and lyrical takes on introspection and ethereal revelations in a modern world far surpass the light, boppity, faith-centric, theatrical sound of Veda Hille on This Riot Life.

Amanda Carnes

The Latest from TRACER Magazine

It’s been a while since Amanda or I have worked on the Nostalgic for Now blog, so I thought I would give everyone an update of what we’ve both been up to. As many of you probably know, we launched TRACER Magazine approximately one month ago and our schedules have been more or less devoted to that venture ever since.

In a little over a month, TRACER’s website has already hosted 13,977 visitors. Not too bad, considering that word of mouth is the only promotional tool we’ve been using thus far. We’ve got plenty of cools things planned for the weeks and months ahead, so… you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Here’s a sneak-peek at what we’re working on, for you loyal Nostalgic For Now readers:

• Exclusive interview with Mark Kozelek – Two week’s ago, Mark and I talked about his recent book of lyrics, his latest Sun Kil Moon album, and more. Mark will be gracing the cover of a very special issue, so stay tuned for more details.
• Exclusive coverage of Bonnaroo and All Points West – We’re sending three staffers to Bonnaroo and two staffers to All Points West, so check back in for some amazing stories and mind-bending photographs from two of America’s finest music festivals!
• Tons of new reviews – TRACER‘s website features new album and gig reviews daily! There’s already a wealth of information to sink your teeth into and we’ll begin publishing our regular features shortly!
• More to come! – Big big big things are in store for the midwest’s finest music magazine (exclusive videos! exclusive audio! exclusive TRACER concerts/parties!), so check back frequently!

Now that we are accustomed to the increased workload, Amanda and I will attempt to update the blog on a more regular basis, too. But, you can always see what we’re up to on www.tracermagazine.com. Stop by and register, if you feel so inclined. You never know… you might just win some free swag! 

Until next time,

— Curt Whitacre, Editor In Chief, TRACER Magazine

Hot Wax: Mates of State’s Re-arrange Us

The full version of this review appears in the pages of TRACER Magazine.

On their fifth full-length, San Francisco’s Mates of State broaden their musical horizons with a little help from some talented friends. Unfortunately, a cadre of guest musicians (including Chris Walla, Ben Gibbard, and Jim Eno) and some slick production cannot save Re-arrange Us from being an altogether unfulfilling album.

Re-arrange Us marks a significant musical evolution for Mates of State. The husband-and-wife duo of Kori Gardner (vocals, keyboards) and Jason Hammel (vocals, drums) have always known a thing or two about writing hook-laden pop songs, but their latest album sees them expanding their artistic palette considerably. The Mates’ cascading melodies and vocal harmonies now float atop a bed of strings, brass, and guitars. Despite this fuller sound, though, there is a surprising lack of depth on display.

This shallowness is particularly true of the album’s lyrical content, which runs the gamut from bearably cheesy to unbearably trite. On mid-album track “Jigsaw,” for example, Gardner and Hammel open with the unnecessary call-and-response of: “You write the good songs, baby/ You write the good songs, baby/ I’ll write them ‘til the end/ I’ll write them ‘til the end/ And you can stand up above us/ And you can stand up above us/ And we can still be friends/ And we can still be friends,” before introducing the hazy simile after which the song is named. Even worse is “Great Dane,” a song that devotes several measures to the painful repetition of the word (I use the term loosely) “da.” A chorus that proclaims, “I can hear you t-t-t-tonight, t-t-tonight/Sing in the sunshine,” does very little to redeem the effort.

The studio gloss applied to Re-arrange Us makes such vapid observations easier to stomach, but it also drowns out any of the personality that could be found on earlier Mates of State efforts. The result is a dreadfully domesticated power-pop album that lacks any sense of exuberance. I’m hard pressed to find any real hint of emotion on Re-arrange Us. Instead, the lazy and repetitive songwriting on display creates a sense of artistic contentment. Even with ample assistance in the studio, the duo’s musical bombast rings false here. Re-arrange Us clocks in at a generously brief 35 minutes, but even that seems a bit too long, considering the general lack of substance on the album.

Curt Whitacre

Hot Wax: Darla Farmer’s Rewiring the Electric Forest

The full version of this review appears in the pages of TRACER Magazine.

It’s often said that if a critic can’t pigeonhole a band into a genre from nuances that remind them of their musical mainstays, said band and/or album must be doing something unique and right. The creativity quotient must be through the roof, and the band is forging ahead into uncharted musical waters. I find this to be one of the most positive aspects of the new release from Nashville-based musical troubadours Darla Farmer. Unpredictable, experimental, angst-ridden, and scattershot are all ways to describe Rewiring the Electric Forest. Fasten your seatbelts for plenty of musical twists and turns on this album.

I headed outside for a walk, even though it was raining enough to need an umbrella, to experience a more intimate listen to Rewiring the Electric Forest on my earphones. It’s great to hear something completely different from the norm when it comes to an indie band. In Darla Farmer’s case, an eclectic mix of instruments and a desire to push the envelope of rock music result in the creation of an album that is at times freakish and fantastical, at others mercurial and unstable. A walk in the rain under an umbrella is a fittingly surreal situation for listening to this album, the band’s first full length release from Paper Garden Records. There is something for many different personalities of music fans: Ska, folk, Americana, pretty Rockabilly ballads, and bombastic, horn driven Carnival-esque musical nostalgia tracks intermingling with 1950’s American Doo-Wop. Not to mention a vocal style that gets your attention, for better or worse, and lyrics that hold their own in the midst of such imaginative music.

Indeed, one of the most noteworthy elements of Darla Farmer’s sound isn’t the music so much as the sound of Clint Wilson’s vocals, which sound impish and youthful. He even sounds a bit monotone and nasal, and at first I was really thrown off by it. Eventually, I did come to think of it as slightly more endearing, though, and the lyrics give Wilson decidedly more weight and merit. On “Big Accident,” for example, when he sings, “We’ll plan something big, yeah we’ll plan something grand, and we’ll just pretend that it’s an accident,” he sounds childlike and his voice sounds a little less confident when he trails off with a “whoo.” Admittedly, this “plan” is almost telling of Darla Farmer’s M.O. When Wilson sings, “Everything is falling faithfully, I see the past is chasing me,” on “The Cow That Drank Too Much,” he sounds too young to have such concerns. The lyrics seem wise at times, however, which provides an intriguing contrast to this childlike voice. I’m not sure why, but this reminds me of some sort of weird, quirky State Fair talent show, with a very young, waggish singer fronting a mature band with a full sound, made up of powerful trumpets, guitars, and a deliciously daring piano that keeps kicking things into high gear with its rollicking high notes. Even the guest vocalist on “Tommy Bones” sounds too quaint, perhaps transported from the Dust Bowl era. This Americana folk style is such a remote cultural relic that it’s not always easy on the ears.

The arrangements have a fickle way of switching gears abruptly, and some of them offer little in the manner of experimental payoff for the listener. “Sweet Fires” demonstrates these unnerving arrangement choices. “Dirty Keys” proves the daredevil nature of Darla Farmer, with Wilson introducing a strange screech over a dramatic, dusty, Americana Big Band rocking out eerie bits of Ska. There are at least a couple of tracks that offer some ingenious style and originality. “Mechanical Thoughts” is a damned good time with staccato horns, Franz Ferdinand-style guitar, and a great dirty bass line, but the reintroduction of Wilson’s shriek and the band’s shifting gears punctures the potency too quickly.

There are a couple of restrained, quiet moments of repose by the end of Rewiring the Electric Forest. “Tree On A Hill” is proof that there is another sort of steam Darla Farmer can tap into. The gentle strumming of the guitar meshes beautifully with the passionate, yet unobtrusive horns and subdued bass. The lyrics are striking and inspired – “I wrote you this quote in a letter hoping what someone else said would make you feel better.” And then, sung sagaciously, “Now my vision starts to blur and I can see/ only one color. What a beautiful feeling,/ can’t believe that this is what I’m seein’.” The music crescendos in a very weepy way, and is consistent with the tone of the song’s arrangement throughout. There are no sharp, uncomfortable turns in “Tree On A Hill,” nor in the album’s closer “The Vigilant Mr. Lynch,” which is sort of a dramatic story-song, certainly a last track comedown, that has a Decemberists’ tack for songwriting. The story is short, however, and the album closes on a quick, mischievous note.

Amanda Carnes

Hot Wax: Morning State’s You Know People, I Know People

The full version of this review appears in the pages of TRACER Magazine.

You Know People, I Know People is the first full-length album from Atlanta-based band Morning State, and I can say that the majority of it would translate very well to a live performance. On your stereo, though, the songs on this album are decidedly less thought provoking or life changing. That might be because Morning State, comprised of Russ Ledford (vocals and guitars), Dave Williams (guitars), Zach Sharenko (drums) and Aaron Stephenson (bass) are interested in rocking out with crowd-stirring guitar bravado and heavy drums and bass. This is the sort of high-energy rock that brings to mind beer bottles being smashed under the weight of a crowd having a good time.

“Sad Is When I’m Driving” kicks off the album with mid-tempo drums and guitar harmonies, followed by Ledford’s radio-friendly rock vocals, singing about having “no name for this feeling just the passing of time.” “Hurry, Hurry” reinforces the band’s focus on speedy, heavy-hitting guitar parts and drums that fill the beat and not much else. The drum parts are heavy on cymbal crashes and beefed up bass drumming. “Never So Strange” is probably the fan favorite, but not because it’s really exciting, but more because of its slower and friendlier alternative rock style. It does sound original, however, and I give anything credit for doing that in a post-modern world. The fourth track, “Grown Up (Atlanta)” is par for the course, but also the best in my opinion out of the heavy, take no prisoners rock and roll on You Know People, I Know People, with its guitar/bass/drum-filled sound and guitar-led vocal harmonies. It seems that the arrangements are tight, but also leave little room for imagination amidst the winding guitars. There is a more worthwhile interlude led by bass guitar in “Grown Up,” but even this creative portion of the song continues the repetitive nature the guitars, which are omnipresent on this album.

It’s difficult to review an album that is so different from music I listen to normally, but truthfully I gave this album several tries and listened carefully. I paid close attention to aspects of it such as the arrangements and length and breadth of original-sounding interludes. Taken as a whole, I would say that this album does what it aims to do, which is offer a full-bodied rock and roll experience, jam packed with two-part guitar strumming and loud, churning drums and bass. The vocals are really the backdrop on all of these songs, save for “Should I Know,” which oddly enough grabbed my attention the most, at least at the outset, although the arrangement wanders off into a less than creative instrumental finish. After a long and dramatic open of only organ or synth and Russ Ledford singing some of the best lyrics on the album – “…I came in this morning with calluses on my hands, I came in this morning and trees bloomed again…” Here his vocals convey plenty of emotion when paired with a very pretty organ riff. The rest of the song just pontificates the lyrics – with an easy beat, light on drums and a simple guitar part that rocks back and forth nicely. The remainder of the album gets back to the heavy, grandiose guitar soloing and metronome-esque drumming. I did find it especially troubling that the lyrics at times border on the inane – “We do yardwork every Saturday, and making love in the afternoon” from “Yardwork.”

Morning State’s strength seems to be rattling an audience with loud guitar licks and solos common to most live-centric rock bands. But I can imagine this band as a local fan favorite, and the show patrons likely enjoy the sort of pounding rock this band is so keen on producing. In that scenario, there is less of a need for very introspective lyrics, and I think most of the lyrics here are like parts of conversations taken out of context and thrown into the mix of a sound that drowns them out anyway.

Amanda Carnes

Hot Wax: The Morning Benders’ Talking Through Tin Cans

The full version of this review appears in the pages of TRACER Magazine.

Talking Through Tin Cans could very well end up being the soundtrack to your next summer getaway. The debut LP by The Morning Benders is a breezy-affair—a collection of catchy indie-pop songs that combine earnest vocals, surf-rock guitars, ragtime pianos and psychedelic fuzz.

The Berkeley quartet of Chris Chu (vocals, guitar), Joe Ferrell (guitar, keyboards), Julian Harmon (drums) and Tim Or (bass) borrow a page or two from the Elephant 6 song-writing book, but let enough of their own personality show to make this album worthwhile. Chu’s vocals inhabit a sonic space somewhere between The Shins’ James Mercer and Of Montreal’s Kevin Barnes (particularly on the Barnes’ sounding “Patient Patient”), perfectly complimenting the band’s light drums and acid-dosed guitar.

The band sounds particularly strong on “Heavy Hearts” and “Waiting for a War,” tracks that spotlight Ferrell’s electric piano playing. The way in which The Morning Benders bring “Waiting for a War” to its swirling conclusion, in particular,” suggests that greater things may lie ahead. The songs of Talking Through Tin Cans are a bit light on lyrical substance, with Chu spending most of the album lamenting lost loves, but there’s certainly a place for this brand of dream-pop.

Talking Through Tin Cans is a solid debut effort from a promising new band. There’s room for growth and maturation, to be sure, but there’s no reason why The Morning Benders can’t bring a little light hearted, sunny rock ‘n roll to your stereo this summer.

Curt Whitacre

Introducing TRACER Magazine

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.

— Curt Whitacre, Editor In Chief, TRACER Magazine

Alive! at Okkervil River (Covington, KY)

My review of Okkervil River’s Covington, KY performance is up on TRACER Magazine. Check it out, if you feel so inclined, or simply enjoy a copy of their setlist.

— Curt Whitacre

Hot Wax: The Kooks’ Konk

The full version of this review appears in the pages of TRACER 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

Spinning Plates #7

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