Author: jeremyfingertips

“On the Chin” – Grey Race

I’ll start the new year with a couple of songs that are not really new at all—a reminder that a song is always new if you haven’t heard it yet. “On the Chin” begins with a straightforward eighth-note riff linked by an amplified acoustic guitar-neck sound, which emerges after the riff is heard the second time. If it’s gratuitous, movement-wise (the guitarist doesn’t really need to run his fingers up and down the neck like that), percussively, it’s at the center of the riff, quietly threading through the song and tacitly foreshadowing the later emergence of actual stringed instruments in the mix. And, what the heck, because I’m a foreshadowing fan, I hear in that slidy sound, additionally, a hint of the vocal intervals that singer Jon Darling will soon be leaping with his pliable tenor–intervals topped by notes he has no business hitting with such glee.

The string players who enter during the bridge (at around 2:07) and step briefly but incisively to center stage for the subsequent return of the chorus (2:39) probably have no business in the song either but the thing is so judiciously assembled it makes perfect sonic sense at that precise moment.

“On the Chin” has been floating around the blogosphere–just barely–since June, when the Brooklyn-based trio’s first EP was released; the subsequent Grey Race album containing the song, entitled Give It Love, was released in September on Unfiltered Records.

“Une Américaine à Paris” – Rupa and the April Fishes

Born in the Bay Area to Indian immigrant parents, Rupa Marya spent a good amount of her childhood in both Northern India and France, which at least partially accounts for the zesty, gypsy-inflected sound she coaxes out of the April Fishes, an ensemble featuring a guitar, a cello, a trumpet, drums, upright bass, and accordion. Singing in fetching French, Marya mixes musical cultures in a way that may sound pastiche-like to purists but sounds vibrant and beguiling to me, thanks in large part to the song’s simultaneously energetic and intimate vibe. (That’s a more unusual combination than it may initially appear.) Marya herself strikes me as a preternaturally charming vocalist; listen to how musical she sounds when she’s trying not to sing so prettily (that speak-singing section beginning at 1:38) and see if you are charmed as well.

Note that if you are at all insecure about your accomplishments to date on the planet Earth, you may not want to know that Marya, singer/songwriter, guitarist, and driving force behind Rupa and the April Fishes, is a musician at night and an honest-to-goodness M.D. doctor during the day, currently on the medical faculty part-time at the University of California at San Francisco. She has also worked as an independent radio producer, in between medical school and going to work as a physician. But remember that this is not a competition; admiration is the proper response to someone this talented and driven. “Une Américaine à Paris” is from the debut Rupa and the April Fishes CD, Extraordinary Rendition, originally self-released on Bateau Rouge Records last January and scheduled for an international release in April on world music label Cumbancha Records.

“The Silence Between Us” – Bob Mould

A bracing shot of earnest, subtly melodic rock’n’roll, “The Silence Between Us” ranks up there with the best of Mould’s solo output. Lionized for his role as Hüsker Dü lead man, Mould has been an inveterate blogger but spotty solo artist, recording infrequently and often steering clear of the guitar-based blitz of his first group and its more commercially-capable successor, Sugar.

There is no reason to expect again from Mould anything resembling the gut-deep fury of Hüsker Dü; so while I’m not hearing the volume or speed associated with that seminal band, what I am connecting to across the years is Mould’s willingness after a good long while to put some meaningful electric guitar back into his songs, while at the same time maintaining a precision in songwriting characteristic of his best work (and often, I think, missing when the volume gets cranked too high, particularly in his post-HD material). This one does nothing fancy, but some well-timed melodic intervals and chord detours lend “The Silence Between Us” an almost noble sort of stature. The guitar solo that begins at 2:20 is worth the download alone, offering a succinct balance of brain and brawn, complete with a nifty electronic coda.

“The Silence Between Us” will be found on Mould’s forthcoming CD, District Line, slated for release early next month on Anti Records. MP3 courtesy of Spinner.

“In the Rain” – Marqui Adora

Marqui Adora is a quartet from Miami who do not otherwise sound like this. And while there’s nothing wrong with the early U2- and Cure-inspired material the band more typically produces, I find myself smitten by the easy-going, old-fashioned swing of this unabashedly tuneful little song.

Sprung off a nostalgic descending guitar lick and pop’s most basic chord progression, “In the Rain” succeeds to a great extent on the vocal flair of Danny Ashe, whose airy tenor echoes the doo-wopping crooners the song so fluently evokes. Reigning in a bit of the drama he employs for Marqui Adora’s neo new wave sound, Ashe floats himself casually atop “In the Rain”‘s loping beat; I find that I can’t quite tell if he’s lagging behind or pushing ahead but in either case his knowledgeable, unexpectedly silky singing lends subtle substance to a tune that drummer Joe Shockley says was inspired by the movie That Thing You Do! and “a love of 50’s and 60’s pop.” I suggest the world would be a better place were we all inspired every now and then by That Thing You Do! and a love of ’50s and ’60s pop. The MP3 is free via the band’s site—as, in fact, is all of Marqui Adora’s music.

“You Cross My Path” – the Charlatans

Smart, driven, atmospheric rocker from a veteran British band. I really like how this manages to be at once trippy and succinct. True to their “Madchester” roots, the Charlatans give us a nice shot of psychedelic keyboard washes (I especially like the burbly buildup into the chorus you can hear starting at 1:19); but even so, the song surges forward with fierce clarity, anchored by a powerful bridge, with its double-time, adjacent-note melody.

The fact that the Charlatans are still active doesn’t fit neatly into the current decade’s internet-driven view of pop music—the relentless need by online music sites and writers to dissect rock into micro-genres and leave everything behind for the next new thing. The Charlatans (who must officially place “UK” after their name here in the U.S. because of a long-defunct ’60s band with the same name) came initially to prominence in the aforementioned Manchester music scene of the late ’80s and early ’90s; their second single, “The Only One I Know,” from 1990, survives as one of the quintessential hits of that short-lived era.

Scenes rise and fall, usually taking bands with them. The Charlatans, however, managed to effect what was seen as a comeback in the mid-’90s, and now, look, it’s even 10 years later and they’re still doing what they do. And now, Radiohead-ishly, they’re giving it away: the band has decided that it will offer its next album free online. “You Cross My Path” was the first single, made available in October via both the band’s site and the British music site Xfm. A second song, “Oh Vanity,” will be available next month. The as-yet untitled album is slated for a March release.

“Country From the Dome Car” – Brooke Miller

On the one hand a straight-ahead piece of countrified rock, “Country From the Dome Car” is likewise a fetchingly elusive sort of song, centered around two divergent guitar sounds–sprightly acoustic; fuzzy electric—and a resolutely unresolved melody.

I definitely think that latter aspect is what hooked me: each line of the chorus ends by veering away from a sense of musical groundedness. Listen to the notes she sings at the end of each line—the words “everyone there,” “in my hair,” “engineer,” and, most prominently, “out of here,” at the end. Not once does the melody resolve. That she is employing a so-called “half rhyme” here—every line ends with the same consonant sound—is a subtle counter-effect; likewise the rollicking, rail-inspired rhythm provides a regularity that the melody beguilingly undermines.

Miller is a singer/songwriter from Prince Edward Island, now living in Ontario. “Country From the Dome Car” is based on the experience she had participating in a unique, three-day on-train folk festival that traveled from Toronto to Vancouver a few years ago. The song can be found on her 2007 CD You Can See Everything, which was originally released in July and was subsequently picked up for a digital re-release via Sony/ATV.

“Walk in the Woods” – Shipwreck

As Stephen Sondheim cautioned us some time ago, going into the woods is never a straightforward enterprise. Something lurks, shadows predominate, and change—not initially for the better—is always afoot. And even though the cryptic lyrics here do not describe anything overtly terrible, “Walk in the Woods” drips omen and portent, from its itchy, hihat-driven beat to Harman Jordan’s deadpan baritone to the wailing lead guitar that quite literally becomes a siren as the plot thickens.

The latent creepiness may be rooted most of all in the song’s structure, of all things. There are verses but no actual chorus—instead, there are lyrical lines that are repeated twice in succession; the first line that’s repeated this way comes back at the end, but the other two are never heard again. On the one hand, this kind of forces us to wonder if there might not be some hidden meaning in the words (or in some cases, to wonder why we still can’t quite understand the words even hearing them twice in a row)–a feeling enhanced by the mysterious phrases that are in fact discernible: “sparrows in a yellow sky,” “thunder is a lullaby,” et al. On the other hand, we are given nothing solid to hang onto. A chorus typically grounds us in a song–in “Walk in the Woods,” the ground keeps shifting. We don’t even get much melody, as the verses are almost spoken-sung. And yet, rather marvelously, we get plenty of drama, all in a swift 3:14.

Shipwreck is a quartet from Champaign, Illinois. “Walk in the Woods” was out earlier this year on a self-released EP; it has emerged again on the band’s first full-length, entitled Rabbit in the Kitchen With a New Dress On, which was released on None Records (a so-called “sub-label” of Polyvinyl Records earlier this month. MP3 via the band’s site.

“Heaven” – Club 8

Cheerful bongos and a melodic bass line propel this dreamy, resplendent slice of Swedish pop with insouciant authority. It’s hard not to like a song with bongos (or a melodic bass line, for that matter). It’s also hard not to like a song this resolutely tuneful, particularly when said tune is delivered by Karolina Komstedt, whose voice is imbued with a sublime sort of weary vibrancy that makes me hang on her every sound–and I do mean every sound, since I’m finding I’m quite enjoying, even, the way she breathes. Listen, for instance, to her potent intake of breath at 0:45, in advance of launching into the lustrous chorus, sounding as much like a sigh as a breath–I mean, how weary/vibrant is that?

Komstedt and partner Johan Angergård have been recording as Club 8 since 1995; Angergård is also in the band Acid House Kings, which may account for the leisurely pace of Club 8 albums–The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Dreaming, on which you’ll find “Heaven,” is the duo’s sixth in these 13 years. It was released in October on the marvelous Labrador Records, based in Stockholm and Malmö. MP3 courtesy of Labrador.

“Little 18” – Eric Matthews

Open on a brooding piano vamp featuring an unsettled chord or two, cue the husky-voiced crooner (“I think I sound like the rainy half of the west coast,” he says), and settle back and listen to a pop rarity: a song with a long, long, long melody line–more than 30 measures’ worth of continually developing melody, repeated twice with an instrumental break in between. This sort of melody is largely unheard of in rock songwriting, and is pretty unusual anywhere outside of classical music. (Even back in the days of so-called pop “standards,” while longer melodies were more common, they were still rarely if ever this long.)

Eric Matthews, as it turns out, is pretty unusual himself. Classically trained on the trumpet (that’s him on the horn during the break; as a matter of fact, that’s him on all the instruments), he knows his way around actual orchestral scores, while at the same time was turned on musically, in high school, by the dark sounds of the second half of the British new wave—by bands such as Tones on Tail, Echo and the Bunnymen, and the Smiths, music that would ultimately lead him to a pop rather than a classical career. Matthews definitely has the voice for it; perhaps the main reason his protracted melody is so engaging is the well-rounded depth of his singing. And yet it’s also, I think, ear-arresting to listen to a pop lyric—Matthews is here offering some hard-headed but hardly earth-shattering advice to some unnamed young woman—unfold in this uncharacteristic musical setting.

Matthews put out his first album back in 1994, while part of the duo Cardinal; two solo albums for Sub Pop Records followed in ’95 and ’97, after which he dropped out of sight until a 2005 mini-LP for Empyrean Records. A full-length followed in ’06. “Little 18” is a track from his forthcoming album, The Imagination Stage, due out in January on Empyrean, which is hosting the MP3. Thanks to Filter for the lead.

“Confidences Shattered” – Camphor

When bands get it right, they can make their music sound so easy and familiar that they don’t seem to be doing much of anything at all. This is one important reason why critics or bloggers or fellow musicians who would sniff at a band for not doing anything “new” are so misguided. Good music isn’t all about “new”; it’s about “good,” and sometimes–maybe a lot of times–this has not too much to do with sounding new.

Camphor is a marvelous case in point. There is nothing obviously new about “Confidences Shattered” but many a good and right and splendid thing. The crisp aural landscape is a major part of the appeal, capturing as it does a down-home sort of chamber pop with smashing clarity and precision. As the players play with skill, creativity, and restraint (a rare trifecta), the recording continually gives the listener the sensation of being in the room with them as they shift in their seats, adjust the grips on their instruments, and invent percussive accents. But the clincher here is Max Avery Lichtenstein’s marvelous voice, which has a gracious, gratifying depth (nothing against tenors but it’s nice to hear a baritone every now and then!); and he sings with impeccable timing. Check out how he phrases “whenever the mood strikes you” at 1:49; more subtly, check out how his words “left us broke” (starting around :42) give the instruments extra oomph in the spaces in between.

As with many indie bands in the ’00s, Camphor is the brainchild of one mastermind, who then enlists a bevy of sidekicks to flesh out the sound. Unusual in this case, however, is Lichtenstein’s background—he’s a film composer who has worked on the critically-acclaimed movies Tarnation (2003) and Home Front (2006), among others. “Confidences Shattered” is from his debut CD as Camphor, Drawn to Dust, which will be released in February on Friendly Fire Recordings. MP3 via Friendly Fire.




“Stains on Your Sweater” – Jong Pang

Okay, back to the tenors—in this case a tenor with such a soaring range that I had to double-check to be sure this was in fact a man singing. It is; he’s Danish musician Anders Rhedin, formerly of a band called Moon Gringo. Rhedin has been away from rock’n’roll for a few years, apparently immersing himself in world, folk, and classical music. But he’s back in the indie world and seems to be going by Jong Pang this time around.

“Stains on Your Sweater” announces itself with an unearthly fanfare before we even hear Rhedin’s keening vocals. An upward-yearning fourth interval repeats on an electronic keyboard, but listen carefully to what else is in there: an acoustic guitar, some industrial noise, and, if I’m not mistaken, either choral voices or electronically simulated choral voices. Half robotic, half medieval, this is quite a stew in which to cook a pop song. But it hardly needs be said that this is no normal pop song. Rhedin’s double-tracked voice enters 30 seconds in, singing about stains and sleeves and sweaters; and while the content is difficult to decipher what is clear is the deliberate repetition of words, creating a sort of slowed-down minimalist ambiance, reinforced by the reiterating fourth interval that continually informs the musical structure, even when the hammering keyboard riff disappears. I love the use of flat-out noise—you’ll hear an episode of it from 0:57 to 1:24–and how the song continues on otherwise, as if nothing untoward is occurring: the drumming keeps the beat, the chord progression progresses, and, best of all, a stubborn piano picks out a slightly desultory melody despite all the commotion.

“Stains on Your Sweater” is a song from the forthcoming Jong Pang debut, to be called Bright White Light, set for release in 2008 on a new European label called Tigerspring (so new it doesn’t yet have a web site). MP3 courtesy of Tigerspring.




“Seasons Greetings” – Robbers on High Street

And talk about getting something right. Christmas music is, as I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, something very easy to do, well, not right. The NYC-based Robbers on High Street, with their effortless Kinks-like flair, convert this strange musical relic—originally one of 200,000 “song poems” that were created over the course of 50 years during the last century (a phenomenon you can read more about here)—into its own sort of homely holiday classic.

Song poems were basically a scam. The idea was to lure people via small magazine ads (which originally promised income for songwriting) into paying good money to have their words converted into a recorded song with as little effort as possible, by uncredited industry hacks. This was not how to crack the Billboard Hot 100. A few years back, Bar/None Records released a couple of compilations of these original song-poem recordings, one of which was a Christmas album. “Seasons Greetings,” written by Raymond Moberly and originally performed by an outfit called Teri Summers and the Librettos, is a song filled with generic sentiment and lines that often don’t scan very well with the music. Robbers on High Street dive merrily in, giving it a Phil Spector-beated intro (cute) and latching breezily onto the song’s gleeful melody, which comes alive in a very Ron Sexsmith-y sort of way when relieved of the lounge-singer pseudo-swing of the original version. MP3 available via New Line Records.

“Small Town Crew” – the Brunettes

This one sounds pure and true and good—completely devoid of the “hmm, what’s the best way to sound cool?” sensibility that mars some of the music one hears from U.S. and U.K. bands in particular. The Brunettes are from New Zealand, so that partially explains it. But the key here, to me, is Heather Mansfield’s voice, which is heart-breaking if you listen carefully: gorgeous and imperfect, it’s a little bit breathy, a little bit raspy, a little bit almost-out-of-tune, a little bit era-free (she’s kind of ’60s but also kind of not), and maybe at its most fetching when reaching towards her upper register. Another boy-girl duo in this golden age of boy-girl duos, the Brunettes aren’t rigid about it; even as Mansfield plays keyboards, glockenspiel, xylophone, and clarinet(!) (her partner, Jonathan Bree, sings and plays guitar), the twosome is happy to bring in other players when it seems like a good idea, which can be almost any time at all, apparently. A trumpet wanders in about a third of the way through, offers some smart Bacharachy punctuation, then gives way to some (synthesized?) strings and ultimately (why not) an accordion–which later becomes part of an instrumental break featuring (for probably the first time in rock history) accordion, xylophone, and electronic percussion. It’s quirky but the bittersweet melody, anchoring guitar work, and Mansfield’s unerring voice keep everything brilliantly just so. “Small Town Crew” is from the CD Structure & Cosmetics, which came out on Subpop Records back in August. Not sure how this one passed me by at the time but, as the saying goes, better late than really really late. MP3 via Subpop.

“Time to Pretend” – MGMT

So you’re two freshmen goofing around with electronic music in college who end up forming a band more or less by accident. Goes without saying, therefore, that within four years, legendary producer Steve Lillywhite hears you and gets you signed to a four-record, six-figure deal with Columbia Records. Or not; but that’s what has indeed happened to Ben Goldwasser and Andrew VanWyngarden, who met at Wesleyan in 2002 and within months of graduating were shaking hands with major-label honchos. If this song is indicative, these guys do in fact have something interesting going–something, in this particular case, that merges thick, hairy, synth-driven beats with a quasi-cheesy, neo-glam-rock vibe and a wry take on life. Pushed along by a chipper, just this side of irritating synthesizer riff, “Time to Pretend” lays out a cliched story of rock-star decadence and flameout as something the band is simply “fated to pretend” rather than achieve. Amusingly, we can’t quite tell if they’re making fun of the musicians who’ve succumbed to this or the rest of us for our standard, humdrum existences–or, most likely, both. “Time to Pretend” is the lead track from the band’s debut CD, Oracular Spectacular, which came out digitally last month, available via iTunes; the CD will apparently be released next month. MP3 via Better Propaganda.

“My Oldest Memory” – Bowerbirds

Another song that has been around since the summer too, but in this case I’ve actually been listening to it for that long (unlike the Brunettes song, which I just recently discovered). “My Oldest Memory” resides on the least pop-like end of the Fingertips music spectrum; I’ve been transfixed since I first heard it by the eerie-Appalachian instrumentation, inscrutable lyricism, and elusive structure, but have been uncertain about the song’s apparent lack of hooks–just when I want the song to kick into something simple and solid, it instead recedes into its landscape-like, fiddle-based complexities, homespun percussion, and that abrupt non-sing-along-y sing-along section. This week, however, it more or less flung itself after “Time to Pretend,” daring me to push it away. I dare not. This song has legs, and deserves a good long listen at your end too. Bowerbirds is a trio from Raleigh featuring Phil Moore singing and doing some other things, Mark Paulson on violin and some other things, and Beth Tacular, an accomplished painter who also happens to play accordion and marching-band bass drum, while sitting. “My Oldest Memory” can be found on their debut CD, Hymns for a Dark Horse, which was released in July on Burly Time Records. Thanks way back when to Gorilla vs. Bear for the head’s up and the link.

“Saturday Night” – Pale Young Gentlemen

The Madison-based ensemble that call themselves Pale Young Gentlemen (the prominently featured cellist is a woman, however) play a singular sort of theatrical indie pop, featuring a jaunty sense of melody, a soft spot for old-timey rhythms, and something of Randy Newman’s way with string-enhanced, piano-based vamping. The aforementioned cello lends an indefinable suggestion of yesteryear to the proceedings, while lead singer and pianist Mike Reisenauer—sounding like a cross between Adam Duritz and Andrew Bird, with a dusting of Chris Martin—sings with a amicable sort of semi-boozey flair; when he gets to the rollicking chorus I can all but see him doing a vaudevillian sort of backward-moving kick step and spread-hand shimmy. And I like how economically the Pale Young Gents manage the theatrics; rather than drowning us with strings or layered, Freddie Mercury-style vocals, the song gives us the feel of something orchestrated with, in fact, a minimal number of instruments, skillfully but informally played—the music has the air of something that everyone maybe just finished rehearsing half a moment before they sat down to record. Keep an ear out too for the backing vocals, sung with fine slapdash charm. “Saturday Night” is a song from the band’s self-released, self-titled debut CD, which came out way back in March, but only recently came to the attention of the hard-working mail sorters in the Fingertips home office.



“Truck” – the Octopus Project

Indefatigable and gleeful instrumental pop from one of the indie world’s most beloved and quirky outfits. (Note that it is difficult if not impossible to achieve beloved status in the indie world without quirkiness.) As noted the previous times the Octopus Project has graced the pages of this web site (a TWF pick in ’05), this Austin-based quartet has an almost magical way of converting its beepy, boopy sounds into something rich and satisfying, even to the ears of this non-instrumental-oriented listener. Here, a sprightly synthesizer comprises the not-as-simple-as-it-seems core of this fleet-footed 7/4 rave-up. As usual, the band’s uncommon ability to blend the electronic, the electric, and the percussive into an organic-sounding whole is front and center (although its endearing use of the theremin is not, unfortunately, on obvious display in this song). While the 7/4 time signature is not unheard of in pop music, the band’s ability to rock out, briskly, within this framework is ear-catching. Likewise ear-catching are the short bridge-like sections during which the 7/4 is abandoned for an even more off-kilter beat (for instance, from 0:20 to 0:31; could be 5/4, maybe, partly) before rejoining the seven-beat groove. Don’t miss the outer space version of the bridge, from 1:32 to 1:43, when the synthesizer pairs with one ringing guitar to create, somehow, a shimmering sound that almost “out-aliens” the absent theremin, before giving way to hard-bashing 7/4 craziness the rest of the way. “Truck” is a song from the CD Hello, Avalanche, the band’s third full-length disc, which was released last month on Peek-A-Boo Records.



“Falling Behind” – Dear Euphoria

Elina Johansson has a slight Sandy Denny-ish tremor in her tender, affecting voice, lending a luminous air to this song’s pervading sadness—a sadness induced by the crestfallen pace, spare setting, and broken-hearted lyrics but not, interestingly, by the actual music, which is mostly comprised of major rather than minor chords. Listen carefully and you may hear how closely the verses hang on top of one of the most familiar bass lines in the 20th-century pop songbook, the one from novice-pianist-friendly “Heart and Soul”; the chorus, meanwhile, floats us into a forlorn, asymmetrical space in which Johansson’s doubletracked voice sings a melodic line that repeats once too often while the drummer retreats, taking the assurance of a beat with him (or her). The plaintive ambiance ultimately forces an alternative interpretation of Dear Euphoria—bliss that is not sweet but, rather, costly. Born in Sweden, Johansson did not begin performing until she moved to Los Angeles for a while earlier in the decade; she “took it as a sign to return home when daily turning on the ac to max,” according to some sketchy but evocative biographical information on her web site. Dear Euphoria is not a band but the name Johansson performs under, with, sometimes, a small circle of regular side players. “Falling Behind” is a song from the self-titled debut CD, which came out last month on London-based Stereo Test Kit Records. This CD is a re-worked version of an album that was self-released, with a different title, in 2005; the new CD has subtracted two of the original songs and added four new ones (including “Falling Behind”). MP3 is via the Stereo Test Kit site.