Category: MP3s

This Week’s Finds: July 1-7 (Jesca Hoop, John Vanderslice, The Sheds)

“Intelligentactile 101” – Jesca Hoop

There’s a Björk-like friskiness enlivening this song, from its invented-word title to Hoop’s somewhat pixie-ish delivery. At the same time, this Northern California-born, LA-based singer/songwriter exudes a laid-back cool that’s far more akin to a young Rickie Lee Jones than to the Icelandic wonder (Björk may be a lot of things but laid back isn’t really one of them). “Intelligentactile 101” springs along with a finger-tapping boppiness, and in the boppy course of things Hoop rather casually gives us a generous array of melodies (there seem to be four distinct sections: verse, bridge, chorus, and something else) to capture her trippy lyrics, along with a winsome assortment of percussive accents, from clacky to tinkly to whirry. The opening melody has a particularly lovely lilt to it, but she slyly withholds its full effect until the song is more than half over: listen to how the same melody that opens the song (0:10-0:16) sounds later on, fleshed out ever so slightly with an elastic bass and spacey keyboard, enough to open our ears to the chord progression that lay latent beneath the tune. “Intelligentactile 101” is a song from Hoop’s forthcoming debut CD, Kismet, scheduled for a September release on 3Entertainment/Red Ink, a Columbia imprint.

“White Dove” – John Vanderslice

Another slice of harsh reality served up with passion, precision, and beauty by one of his generation’s leading, if under-publicized, singer/songwriters. Driven by fuzzed-out guitars, “White Dove” nevertheless leaves a lot of aural space in and around its attack; there are quiet sections, the acoustic guitar remains central throughout, and there are moments where the silence in between instruments is used as its own sort of beat. This approach strikes me as the musical equivalent of a movie that terrifies more for what it doesn’t show than for what it does. Here, a horrible story from the past is retold, along with its lingering effect on the present, suggesting the pointlessness of expecting anything resembling peace here in the human realm and yet also, I think, the necessity of holding on to that dream. Or maybe that’s just my personal addition. “White Dove” is a song from his new CD, Emerald City, due out later this month on Barsuk Records. (Emerald City by the way is his caustic way of referring to the Green Zone in Baghdad; no, we’re not in Kansas anymore.) MP3 via the Barsuk site.

“Rootwings” – the Sheds

Popular music’s internet age has given birth to a whole heck of a lot of indie-rock duos—the duo being the most DIY-ish way of being a band, I suppose (less equipment, fewer people to pay, etc.). What they tend to possess in spirit and productivity, however, duos seem commonly to lack in songwriting acumen—a fact which makes Burlington, Kentucky’s premier contribution to the field of indie-rock duos so unexpectedly wonderful. The Sheds feature a croony but homespuny vocalist, simple but personable arrangements, and truly rewarding music and lyrics. Also, female backing vocals when you least expect it. “Rootwings” is both short and truly sweet, and one of a number of nice songs from the band’s latest CD You’ve Got a Light, which was self-released this spring and available, in its entirety, via free and legal download on the band’s web site.

This Week’s Finds: June 24-30 (Tenderhooks, Over the Rhine, Wheat)

“Kidstuff” – Tenderhooks

This song wallops me with its late-’70s new wave vibe but I can’t put my finger exactly on why. Put early Elvis Costello, the 1977-79 Kinks, Television, and the Undertones in a blender and this song maybe pours out, with its ringing guitar line, observational wordplay, and solid pop melody. The production quality has a strong whiff of past glory about it thanks to those driving dual guitars and the enveloping rhythm section but again the sensation is vague rather than specific. The closest correlation I hear is with singer Jake Winstrom, whose high, sandy-warbly voice brings the legendary Undertones singer Feargal Sharkey to mind. But what of that unglued guitar break, beginning at 1:55 but becoming deviant by around 2:10? There’s nothing late-’70s about that at all; while some may call it “shredding” (a term for the superfast playing style that arose out of heavy metal and prog rock), I hear something more aural than pyrotechnic about it–as if guitarist Ben Oyler is trying to make a cool sound rather than merely to sound cool. Like a good band in any era, this Knoxville quartet—often billed as alt-country but this song has nothing obvious to do with that genre—appear to be adept students and willful experimenters, so that in the end, the pieces of the past you hear become part of a vivid and present experience. “Kidstuff” is from the band’s Vidalia CD, which is slated for release this week on Rock Snob Records.

“Trouble” – Over the Rhine

As the noisy part of today’s music scene is dominated almost fascistically by those obsessed with what is bright and shiny and new, there fortunately remain many musicians to listen to who are not simply brand new, thank goodness. To think of the depth and richness we would lose if we really were only listening to the latest MySpace and Pitchfork sensations—but no worries, we’re not, and never will. Because some of the best new bands will stick around and hone their art in fruitful and unanticipated ways over the years, just as some of today’s most wonderful not-new-anymore bands themselves once gleamed with the newcomer’s glow. Long-time Fingertips favoriteOver the Rhine are a categorical example of how impressive musicians can become as they have the chance to mature and write and perform together. Linford Detweiler and Karin Bergquist have had a particularly enriching path as a married couple making music together; the connection apparent in their performance is a wonder to behold. Sly, engaging, and timeless-sounding, “Trouble” is a crisp and catchy tune that is one part cabaret, one part tango, one part orchestral pop, and all parts Bergquist, whose voice is as sultry and idiosyncratically alluring as ever. “Trouble” is a song from the band’s forthcoming CD, entitled The Trumpet Child, to be released in August on the band’s Great Speckled Dog label.

“Move = Move” – Wheat

And this one oozes the ramshackle charm of 1967-or-so Rolling Stones (the melody to my ears partially echoes “Sing This All Together Now”), without any of the silly bad-boy posturing. And yet “Move = Move” likewise feels rooted right here in the indie-rock-saturated ’00s, with its sculpted sound and stray electronic lagniappes. There’s a real looseness on display that I find totally wonderful in such an otherwise brisk and focused tune, epitomized by the almost haphazard way the harmony vocals weave in and out of both awareness and alignment. Wheat is a thoughtful duo from Massachusetts that began life in the late ’90s as an art project; “Move = Move” is a song from the band’s loquaciously titled CD Everyday I Said a Prayer for Kathy and Made a One-Inch Square, their fourth, which was released last month on Empyrean Records. The MP3 is courtesy of Spin.com.

This Week’s Finds: June 17-23 (Scott Matthews, The Ladybug Transistor, Bishop Allen)

“Elusive” – Scott Matthews

Tense, fragile, emotional, and intelligent. Listen to how the verse develops over an intriguingly minimal guitar accompaniment–he plays not chords, not a standard finger-picking pattern, but something more resembling a bass line. Vague keyboard washes add deep atmosphere, particularly as we get to the chorus. While not sounding specifically like Jeff Buckley–Matthews’ tenor seems more constricted, and pretty much lacks Buckley’s famous vibrato–there’s still something Buckley-like in the air here in the strong yet delicate melody and the sense of dramatic vulnerability suffusing the song. Matthews is a British singer/songwriter and this song has already been a big sensation in the UK, from an album called Passing Stranger that was released there in October 2006. “Elusive” recently won a major UK songwriting prize, the Igor Novello Award; Passing Stranger is now being readied for U.S. release on Universal Republic, probably in the early fall. MP3 via Stereogum.



“Always on the Telephone” – the Ladybug Transistor

Evocative minor-key 21st-century folk rock, with saxophone. Although here, for sure, is a band with its roots deep in the 1990s–associated with the storied Elephant Six Collective, the Ladybug Transistor in fact released its first CD back in ’95. The personnel has changed over the years and it’s a bit of a loosey-goosey outfit to begin with; it taxes me beyond my breaking point to determine, via all available press materials, who precisely is in the band at this point. (I do know that the band, tragically, lost their original drummer, San Fadyl, in April, to a fatal aesthma attack.) Through the years and the lineup shiftings, the band’s sound remains ever centered around Gary Olson’s sensitive baritone and his lovely capacity to convert something vaguely ’60s-like into something vaguely contemporary. I’m taken this time by the unexpected entrance of the saxophone (only, um, now I guess you’ll expect it) at 1:47–a sharp, lonely sax it is, its achy street-corner wail unlike anything one normally encounters in ’00s indie rock. “Always on the Telephone” is the lead track from the band’s new CD Can’t Wait Another Day, which was released on Merge Records earlier this month. The MP3 is via Spin. Veteran Fingertips visitors, do you remember the band’s previous TWF pick, in December ’03? Refresh your memory.



“Rain” – Bishop Allen

Punchy, precise pop from the punchy and precise Bishop Allen, the Brooklyn-based band best known, in the web world, for releasing 12 separate EPs last year–one each month, each named for the month, each with four new songs (except for August, which had 14 live tracks). A band this productive has probably mastered the art of writing songs about more or less anything; this one appears to be, rather simply, about a rainy day. Between the snappy-clappy beat, the spirited, uncomplicated melody, and Justin Rice’s high-pitched yet appealing voice, “Rain” is charming from beginning to end. I like how the lead guitar enters about halfway through (1:38) with a squawk or two, as if it was literally waking up, just in time for a recalcitrant sort of anti-solo. “Rain” is a track from the forthcoming Bishop Allen CD, The Broken String, slated for release next month on the Dead Oceans label. The MP3 is via the band’s site. Bishop Allen is another band with a previous TWF appearance in the semi-distant past; unfortunately, the song selected back in March ’04 is no longer available.

This Week’s Finds: June 10-16 (God Love You For a Liar, Spoon, Watoo Watoo)

“Speech Marks” – God Love You For a Liar

A continually engaging, skillfully constructed song from an unknown, unsigned UK band. Nice chords, indecipherable time twists, hardy melodies, intriguing lyrics, multiple hooks—“Speech Marks” packs it all into four and a half minutes, while adding a bit of goofy 10cc-like pop drama for good measure (I’m referring to the “phone conversation” segment, beginning at 2:26; and don’t miss the answer given to “Do you believe in God?”). Vocalist Gareth Moss has a pliable tenor that suits the shifty music well, sometimes veering towards David Byrne-like rubberiness, sometimes doing a bit of crooning, but not for long, since he’s not afraid to leap back and forth into his falsetto. I’ll admit my eye was caught by this band before my ear was—they describe themselves as “owing as much to Kate Bush as they do to The Smiths,” a claim that does my heart good in a “maybe the world isn’t going to hell in a handbasket” sort of way (I mean, four guys in a rock band calling Kate Bush a major influence? Only in the 21st century.) The band by the way exchanged a ’90s-style name (Plastik) for the much ’00s-ier God Love You For a Liar within the last year, when they expanded from a trio to a quartet. “Speech Marks” is a song from their first CD, How Much Is Enough? that is not only available for free online at their web site but is genuinely good.

“The Underdog” – Spoon

So check out the handclaps (0:58) in this one: probably the most difficult-to-clap-along-with handclaps in the history of rock’n’roll. Knowing how meticulous Britt Daniels, Jim Eno and company are, this can’t be an accident, so it strikes me as a good-natured if inscrutable joke in the middle of a good-natured if inscrutable (not to mention crisp and punchy) song. Launching off a relentlessly strummed, one-chord acoustic guitar riff, “The Underdog” features Spoon’s characteristic sense of instrumental restraint—however many or (more often) few sounds are combined at any given point, one can always hear all of them distinctly—and yet delivers it in an easy-going, shuffly musical setting. This creates a wily tension throughout; even when the horns arrive, they don’t cut loose but keep their distance, never overpowering either the acoustic guitar or Eno’s precise percussion (he refuses to hit or shake too many things at once). The one excessive thing you’ll hear—also no accident, I assume—is that repeating guitar chord (G major, if I’m not mistaken), not only in the beginning but in the middle (where it extends for 10 measures, blatantly two measures “too long”) and then at the end, where it persists an almost excrutiating 18 measures before it sounds like someone has shot the guitar (or the guitarist). If you like this song even a little, I encourage checking it out within the context of the whole CD, in which it sounds mysteriously irresistible. The CD—entitled Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (yet another good-natured if inscrutable joke?)—is the band’s sixth; it’s scheduled for release next month on Merge Records.

“Perdu” – Watoo Watoo

As breezy and refreshing as a mojito in the shade by the beach on a hot day, “Perdu” disappears as quickly, too: the song’s just a hair over two minutes long. With its melt-in-your-ears keyboard and brisk, semi-boss-nova-y groove, the song might fall into the “pleasant but generic” rut but for its immediately captivating melody, thirst-quenching chord changes, and the pure, breathy voice of Pascale, the singer. The French lyrics add measurably to the allure. Watoo Watoo is a husband-wife duo who live in Bordeaux and go by first names only (his is Michaël). They’ve recorded in an off and on sort of way since 1997. “Perdu” is from their new CD, La Fuite, which was released today on Letterbox Records. I’m pretty sure that this song will sound all but perfect on almost any mix you feel like putting together for yourself for the warm weather to come. Remember to thank Letterbox for the MP3.

This Week’s Finds: June 3-9 (Dirk Darmstaedter, Soy Un Caballo, The Contrast)

“We Are Waves” – Dirk Darmstaedter

Crisp, polished, and incisive in a Neil Finn-ish sort of way, “We Are Waves” alternates itchy, restrained verses with a gorgeous, crashing-to-the-shore sort of chorus. And yet—if I may stretch the metaphor to the breaking point, as it were—much the way a crashing wave is simultaneously composed of the water being pulled back to sea, so do I hear in the chorus an engaging sort of counter-movement that gives the song extra depth and presence. What I’m talking about in particular is the way the chorus leads with a straightforward A major chord but then, even as the melody takes that engaging leap up, from the fourth to the seventh note (0:56), the chords retreat from the plain power chords one might expect into something more complex (perhaps suspended?; listen at 0:58, on the words “open sea”); listen further to how the chords take two more unexpected steps before finding A major again. The chorus might have been blandly catchier without the subtle complications, but it’s richer and more gratifying with them. Darmstaedter, by the way, is an interesting dude—he split his childhood years between Hamburg, Germany, where he was born, and northern New Jersey, where he lived with his family from ages 5 to 11. After spending a few teenaged years busking through Europe on his own, he returned to NJ by himself to finish high school with his old friends, and eventually found himself back in Germany in the late ’80s with a band (the Jeremy Days) and a hit single. After the band dissolved in 1995, Darmstaedter began recording solo albums. In 2002, he co-founded Tapete Records and has recorded a few CDs there, the latest being Our Favorite City, which came out in March. That’s where you’ll find “We Are Waves”; the MP3 is courtesy of Dirk and Tapete.

“But Will Our Tears” – Soy Un Caballo

Handmade semi-electronic EU pop from a French-singing Belgium duo with a Spanish name (which translates to “I am a horse”) and at least one English-titled song. When it comes to this sort of semi-lo-fi-ish duo music, it can be a fine line for me between something bright and alluring and something simply bubble-headed, but I think this one crosses onto the right side of that boundary for a few reasons. I like the peppy yet melancholy guitar line that opens the song, and provides an undercurrent for the electronics that follow—it grounds the song in something human and three-dimensional. I like that the electronics that follow help characterize the song but never dominate it; there are stretches where you’re hearing just guitar and drum and voice here, and when some sort of keyboard joins in, I feel as if the actual concrete keys themselves are present in the soundscape somehow. Speaking of the drum, note how the electronic beat is supplemented–and quite often replaced–by an actual drumkit (listen around 0:32, when it’s first noticeable), played with a wonderful carefree touch. And I like Aurélie Muller’s upfront, deadpan voice and how well it wraps itself around the unadorned melody—back and forth on a third interval and then, oops, a delightful jump from the one to the five note. (Funny how striking it always sounds in a pop setting for a singer to leap beyond a standard third interval.) “But Will Our Tears” can be found on the band’s debut CD, Les heures de raison (“The hours of reason”), which was released last month on the Belgian label Matamore. The MP3 is no longer available but you can stream the song via Minty Fresh Records if you’d still like to hear it.

“Clue” – the Contrast

Funny thing about this elastic, elusive thing called power pop. Sometimes we (i.e. power pop fans) want almost slavish devotion to form (even though none of us know exactly what the hell the form actually is), other times a new twist helps render the form all the more heart-rending and addictive. The Contrast, a band from Peterborough, Cambridgeshire (the UK, don’t you know), gives us a few prominent power pop earmarks–notably the guitar sound, an ineffable combination of the crunchy and the jangly, on display in a prominent riff, and the punchy (maybe compressed?) drumming. But then they deliver a couple of twists. First and foremost, a vocal twist: while classic power pop singers usually deliver in one sort of sweet tenor or another (think Alex Chilton, Matthew Sweet, Carl Newman of the New Pornographers), singer David Reid sings in a throaty, emphatic baritone. If Richard Thompson wanted to make a power pop record, it might sound a bit like this. Second, at 1:54: it’s a piano. Like a regular sounding piano. Not your everyday power pop instrument, but it’s not here for long, and then again, listen to how it pounds out those percussive chords–piano as percussion makes some sense in power pop, which is often (but not always! there are no rules, remember) characterized by an insistent (though often subtle) beat. “Clue” is from the Contrast’s fifth album, Underground Ghosts, which came out in mid-May on Rainbow Quartz Records. The MP3 is via Insound—it won’t play through the Fingertips media player, but the MP3 will download if you click on the song title.

This Week’s Finds: May 20-26 (Okkervil River, The New Pornographers, Rasputina)

“Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe” – Okkervil River

This sort of anxious, cinematic indie rock is bound to remind many of us here in 2007 of the Arcade Fire, and yet let’s note right away that this Austin-based quintet has been around since 1998, so do the math, as they say. From its wonderful if off-kilter title to its highly disciplined if slightly unglued sense of both song and production, “Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe” strikes me as pretty brilliant from beginning to end. Front man Wil Sheff is a wordy sort of guy (he’s spent some time writing music criticism for a living, as I recall), but rather than do as other wordy sorts of guys do and cram too many syllables into lyrics (“look at all my words!”), Sheff’s a savvy enough songwriter to have figured out how to manipulate triplets and time signatures to embrace the extra syllables (you’ll hear this for the first time at 0:22, when he sings—I think—“When the love that you locked in the suite says there’s no crying”). So he’s a wordy guy who makes room for the music, which makes sense when you’ve got a crack outfit around you like this. Me, I’m especially enjoying the drumwork: listen throughout to how Travis Nelsen uses all of his drums, from snares to toms to bass drum, with great energy and sensitivity. Part of me keeps waiting for Okkervil River to break through in at least an Arcade Fire-ish sort of way, but part of me keeps suspecting that this band may be too literate/inscrutable for mass consumption. I mean, take a look at what Scheff has written about the concept of downloading music (hint: he relates it to a Borges short story) and you’ll see how literate I mean. (Also read it because it’s interesting.) “Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe” will be the lead track on Okkervil’s River upcoming CD, The Stage Names, which is slated for an August release on Jagjaguwar Records. The MP3 is via the Pitchfork blog.

“My Rights Versus Yours” – the New Pornographers

Last week we heard from Kathryn Calder’s lesser-known band (Immaculate Machine); this week her more well-known group steps to the forefront (and she steps a bit to the rear, as the fabulous Neko Case happens to be the senior female vocalist in the band). Carl Newman’s affinity for late ’60s and early ’70s pop is yet again on full display, from the Brian Wilson-y beginning to the feel-good shuffliness of the rhythm section, once the rhythm section gets going (hang with it, it takes a while). Cross Bob Welch-era Fleetwood Mac with the Monkees and you’re almost here. The twist is that this Canadian ensemble is clearly up to something serious (“My Rights Versus Your Rights”: not a classic pop song title) while setting their observations to music so breezy you can bob your head to it while reading your trashy novel on the beach with your iPod on and no one’s the wiser. (Just don’t tell Will Sheff.) “My Rights Versus Yours” is an advance MP3 from the band’s upcoming Challengers CD, due in August on Matador Records. This one I also heard about via Pitchfork, which had for the longest time previously been yielding little of interest to me. Go figure.

“Cage in a Cave” – Rasputina

A different sort of ’60s vibe is in the air here—something quirkier and more psychedelic. And then something also having nothing to do with the ’60s at all, as there were not, to my knowledge, any groups with two cellos and a drummer doing business during the Summer of Love. This idea belongs exclusively to Melora Creager, the founder and leader of Rasputina, whose goal in starting the band back in 1992 was to “make funny, depressing music with nothing more than cellos, singing and electricity.” (In fact, when Rasputina started up, there were six cellos in all.) As “Cage in a Cave” illustrates, Creager captures a unique, full-bodied instrumental energy with her cello-based rock music, avoiding the frilly feeling one often hears when strings are an afterthought. A big part of the overall appeal is Creager’s strong, irresistible voice and her capacity to write real melodies, as too often, to my ears, those inclined to noodle with odd instruments forget that we still need a true and sturdy melody to hang onto. Classically trained and an art school student to boot, Creager is an authentic character, obsessed with historical events and elaborate, vaguely Victorian costumes. And yet on Rasputina’s upcoming CD, Oh Perilous World, Creager has partially let go of the historical content because, according to her press material, she decided that current events have become more bizarre than anything she could dig up from the past. Although the past still intrudes here and there, as in the lead track (“1816, The Year Without a Summer”) and for that matter “Cage in a Cave,” which seems to deal at least in part with Fletcher Christian, the man who was the leader of the mutineers on the Bounty back in 1789. The CD will be released in June on Creager’s Filthy Bonnet Recording Company.

This Week’s Finds: May 6-12 (The Gena Rowlands Band, Mieka Pauley, Voxtrot)

“Flesh and Spirits” – the Gena Rowlands Band

With a free-flowing vibe, unusual instrumentation, and a vocalist who sounds like an actual grown-up, “Flesh and Spirits” has very little in common with what we’ve come to think of as “indie rock,” and we are all the better for it. Centered around a ruminative electric piano and some itchy, jazz-tinged drumming, “Flesh and Spirits” avoids veering off into a loungey vagueness thanks largely to Bob Massey’s rich, evocative singing—there’s something in his voice that adds appreciably to the music itself. Listen to the chorus in particular and how, following the violin’s lead, he transforms a relatively simple ascending melody (beginning at 1:02) into something sensational and heart-opening. Like the title’s dichotomy, the song seems built on twin supports of matter and essence, which keeps the piece grounded even during its more abstract moments (for instance, the edgy instrumental break that starts at 2:49, matching mournful string lines against a sputtering electronically enhanced beat). The Gena Rowlands Band—no relation to the actress of the same name—is an ensemble from Washington, D.C. that Massey assembles whenever and however he feels like it from a rotating cast of a dozen musicians; “Flesh and Spirits” is the title track to the group’s third CD, which was released last month on Lujo Records. The MP3 is via the Lujo site.

“All the Same Mistakes” – Mieka Pauley

The Boston-based, Harvard-educated Pauley sings here like a tantalizing cross between Cat Power and Sarah McLachlan, with a smidgen of Suzanne Vega thrown in. The crisp, disciplined production highlights the song’s canny melodic appeal, and just when you think you’ve heard what it has to say, things take one left turn, and then another. First, around 2:30, the song all but grinds to a halt, reborn briefly as a lilting, slow-motion waltz and then transforming again through its original setting into an unexpectedly blistering recapulation, complete with slightly phased vocals, electric guitar, and bashy drums. “All the Same Mistakes” is a song that will be found on Pauley’s next CD, scheduled for release this summer. (The MP3 is no longer available as a free and legal download but you can purchase it from Pauley via Bandcamp.)

“Kid Gloves” – Voxtrot

Then again, not that there’s anything wrong with what we’ve come to think of as indie rock (see Gena Rowlands band entry, above), as I think is clear from this casually splendid new track from the Austin quintet Voxtrot. This one has a neo-New-Romantic feeling, with its ’80s-club beat and melodramatic melody. (And speaking of the so-called “New Romantics,” am I being fooled by the name overlap or is there something vaguely Ultravox-like going on with these guys?) What transports this one, for me, in particular is that part of the chorus when Ramesh Srivastava sings: “I have no choice but to put you in back of me”—geez, everything about that line melodically and harmonically is just plain wonderful, from the chord underpinning the word “choice” to the satisfying way the melody inches up by whole steps then dives back down a fifth (and, as always, much better to listen than to read about it). Voxtrot may be the best-known band in the U.S. that has yet to release a full-length CD, thanks to some sizable web love over the last couple of years, but “Kid Gloves” is in fact from their forthcoming debut non-EP release, entitled simply Voxtrot, set to be out on the Playlouder label later this month. The MP3 is via Spinner, the AOL indie music blog.

This Week’s Finds: April 29-May 5 (Shannon Wright, Contramano, The Chrylser)

“Everybody’s Got Their Own Part to Play” – Shannon Wright

There’s a distinct early ’70s vibe in the air here, from the head-bobbing piano chords to the sing-song-y melody, but most of all, as I listen, what brings me back to that bygone time are the subtle John Lennon references I’m hearing in the music, the lyrics (“Nobody knows what the truth is”), and even in the echoey way her voice is slightly buried in the mix. As Wright is nothing if not a simmering vocalist, it’s actually kind of fun to have to listen more closely than usual for the emotion–powerful singers grow more powerful, I believe, when they learn to present with subtlety. This compact song features an unusual structure–there are basically four different paired melodic segments, three of which we hear twice, one of which we hear only once, and that unrepeated segment appears to be the chorus. In any case, the whole thing whips right by us (total time: 2:43) before we’ve quite gotten our arms around it; I suggest allowing a few listens for its various charms to emerge most clearly. “Everybody’s Got Their Own Part to Play” is the closing song on Wright’s new CD, Let In The Light, which is scheduled for release next week on Quarterstick Records.

“TV Reality (The New Plague)” – Contramano

If David Byrne had been an Argentinian cellist rather than a geeky Ontario- and Maryland-raised art school dropout, Talking Heads might have sounded something like this. Contramano centers around Pablo Cubarle’s spiky cello playing, homely singing, and joyfully unexpected sense of melody. The jagged rhythms of the introductory cello riff lead us into an extended, unsettled opening section–the band has our attention but it’s unclear what they’re going to do with it, as the chords hover without resolution and Cubarle’s accented English renders understanding minimal. Then, as Cubarle sings, “But it’s not a special day,” something begins to shift, we are suddenly in a bridge to somewhere else, and that somewhere else becomes a crazy-great chorus, a very Talking Heads-like bit of infectious simplicity, enlivened by crystal-clear bass arpeggios and a lively drum kit. Cubarle is particularly difficult to understand right here; to add to your enjoyment, you should know that what he’s singing is: “It’s the new plague/The new invasion/Click on, screw your life, screw your life.” And maybe reality TV presents an easy target but if so, not nearly enough people are taking it on. “TV Reality” is a song from Contramano’s second CD, Unsatisfecho, which the band will release themselves next week. The MP3 is via the band’s site.

<"First Blood" – the Chrysler

An insistent, minor-key lament with engaging atmospherics and a sustained sense of woe. While an acoustic guitar strumming a simple E minor chord remains at the center of the sonic space, nice touches persist around the periphery, most involving a range of electric guitar sounds—shimmering sustained notes, controlled feedback, echoey chords, an occasional twang. I’m getting a feeling of the archetypal American West in this one, which may seem strange in that the Chrysler is a folk-pop quintet from smalltown Sweden; on the other hand, they are considered a “country” act there, so maybe that accounts for the mysterious, tragedy-prone landscape their music evokes. The song unfolds at a leisurely pace, and doesn’t travel too far, yet somehow keeps the ear occupied through its five-plus minutes. “First Blood” is from the band’s second CD, Cold War Classic, which was released in mid-April in the U.S. on Parasol Records. The MP3 is via the Parasol site.

This Week’s Finds: April 15-21 (Winterpills, Land of Talk, Pink and Noseworthy)

“Broken Arm” – Winterpills

The beauty of my slow, steady system here is that often it appears to work on its own, as if I’m not even a part of it. Songs that hit me at a level below rational thinking get added to my “top consideration” folder, and each week I spend time listening to all the songs in it, and when I listen long enough and closely enough they kind of just sort themselves out. It’s a mystery. And what also sometimes happens–equally mysterious–is a song that I didn’t pick that week ends up floating around in my head, singing itself to itself in the days that follow. Usually that means I will pick that song at some point. Thus, “Broken Arm,” from the western Massachusetts band Winterpills, which I kept not quite selecting and which has continued to arise unbidden in my head. This one has the minor melancholy folk-rock tension of something from the ’60s (Simon & Garfunkel? Mamas & Papas?), and I think the thing that really sticks with me is how the hook is, somehow, the first melodic line of the verse. Normally a pop song has to work up to its hook but this one starts with it: a simple descending melody that curls back up at the bottom, and it may not sound like much the first time you hear it, when singer Philip Price sings on his own; but one of the band’s characteristic sounds is the vocal interplay between Price and keyboardist Flora Reed, and when Reed harmonizes that same line when it returns (at around 0:47), well, yikes. Wow. She stays with him for (I think) three notes then they separate into the most wonderful intervals. A parallel highlight is the interplay between the acoustic and electric guitar, the acoustic crisp and precise, the electric slurry and evasive. (Note a very clear “bad word” happens at 2:03 so be careful if children or bosses are nearby.) “Broken Arm” is from the band’s second CD, The Light Divides, released on Signature Sounds at the end of February.


“Speak To Me Bones” – Land of Talk

And this one sounds like something sharp and itchy from maybe the early or middle ’90s. Right away I like the tension established by a stationary guitar slashing intermittently against the propulsive rhythm section, while otherwise retreating into a vibrating, harmonic fuzz. I can feel the whole enterprise coiled up, restrained, ready to boil over. When the guitar is fully unleashed, at 0:27, we get pretty much the same chord–something with the vague dissonance of a suspended chord, from the sound of it–only now the slashing intensifies, gains a rhythm, is fleshed out by adjunct chords that veer magnetically back to the central cluster, with a beautiful fury that would do Neil Young proud. When singer/guitarist Elizabeth Powell emerges from behind her mighty instrument (54 seconds into it) to sing a discordant melody, with passion, I’m falling for this one big-time. While comparisons have been made to P.J. Harvey because of Powell’s vocal turbulence, I hear something ultimately sweeter there in the midst of the storm–to me, in fact, her rich, sandpapery tone brings Kathleen Edwards rather unexpectedly but pleasingly to mind. But try not to let Powell’s vocal assurance distract you from her impressive guitar chops, which provide a constant source of grinding grandeur to this explosive little piece. Land of Talk is a trio from Montreal; “Speak To Me Bones” is a song from the band’s debut EP, Applause Cheer Boo Hiss, which was released in the U.S. in March on The Rebel Group. The MP3 is via the record company site.


“Loud and Clear” – Pink and Noseworthy

This is another song that engages me before the singing even starts. Here we have the often agreeable acoustic guitar and piano combination, and listen to this piano in particular–how slyly unconcerned with the beat it can be, just floating its gentle notes here and there, in and around the guitar’s structured picking. And it’s also another song with a very engaging male-female duet going on, in this case via Shanee Pink and Mark Noseworthy (yup, the band is simply named after people; and there was me intially trying to figure out what the name meant). I really like the vibe here: while there’s a quiet late-night feeling going on, it’s not simply loungey-jazzy; instead we get a nice and yet subtly unusual sense of movement–the unusual part the result of the unexpected 7/4 time signature. I can’t remember hearing a song centered around fingerpicking in 7/4 time like this, although of course there may well be some. Another nice touch is how the acoustic instruments each pick up an electric counterpart as the song develops–we get both a dreamy electric guitar and an atmospheric keyboard filling out the original piano-guitar combo, plus some simple percussion (mostly just an egg shaker). And the percussion really disguises the unconventional beat, managing to keep what sounds like a regular pulse even with those odd-beated measures. All in all both a lovely tune and a spiffy accomplishment. “Loud and Clear” is a song from Pink and Noseworthy, the duo’s debut CD, which was released in March on North Street Records. The MP3 is available via the North Street site.

This Week’s Finds: April 8-14 (Elk City, Mason Proper, Tin Cup Prophette)

“Los Cruzados” – Elk City

Smooth and sinuous and upbeat and heartbroken. Over a pulse-like bass and a beautifully articulated, reverberant guitar, Renée LoBue sings with an ache in her slightly smoky voice that drapes the whole effort in a buoyant sort of sorrow. She’s singing “Halleluyah” but it’s as if she’s trying to convince herself; and when she says, “Let’s jump in the river to celebrate/The light that they left in our hearts,” the song has gotten so pensive there that she appears more focused on the jumping than the celebrating. Elk City, from New York City, has been around since 1998 and spent most of their time as a trio; the original guitarist left, discordantly, in ’04; LoBue and drummer Ray Ketchem eventually brought in guitarist Sean Eden, formerly in Luna, and bassist Barbara Endes, from the Lovelies, and the new band’s sound is strong and sure and polished in all the best ways. “Los Cruzados” is a song from the forthcoming CD, New Believers, the band’s first as a quartet, scheduled for release next week on Friendly Fire Recordings. The MP3 is available via the Friendly Fire site.

“Miss Marylou Carreau” – Mason Proper

This one is half crazed swampiness, half disciplined pop song. It’s an inspired amalgam. I really have no idea what’s going on here lyrically but I love the spill of tangible, baffling words we get from singer Jonathan Visgr, such as: “She bought a mug of bubbles from a bauble-hawker at the bazaar,/Supposedly an ex-czar from lands afar,” or “Her now ignored automatic attendent M.I.A. on the floor,/Amid discarded decor,” and what really nails these words–which, I’ll admit, sort of just sit there on the screen–are how they scan in the music, which swoops up and down via intriguing intervals and syncopations, rendering physical the strange jumps and blank spots in this impenetrable narrative. I don’t really mind if lyrics don’t make sense because I don’t really tend to hear them except as part of the sound, and Mason Proper seems a band with a great feel for words-as-sounds. The persistent crunch of the band’s variegated guitar arsenal is another ongoing highlight, and there is to be sure no shortage of guitar in this song, from the villainous riff that underpins the verse (heard for instance at 1:06) to the multifaceted, multi-guitar showdown that begins at 1:52 and ends in a high-pitched drone somewhere around 2:40. That’s a nutty and juicy snack for all you guitar fans out there. Mason Proper is a quintet based in Michigan; “Miss Marylou Carreau” is a song from the CD There is a Moth in Your Chest, released last month on Dovecote Records. (The CD was originally self-released last January in a limited run; the new version is re-mixed, re-mastered, and partially re-recorded.) The MP3 is via the Dovecote site.

“Going Numb” – Tin Cup Prophette

Perhaps it’s just in this odd little corner of the indie rock world in which I find myself wandering, but I’m beginning to wonder if the violin isn’t becoming at long last a bonafide rock’n’roll instrument here in the 21st century. Athens, Georgia-based Amanda Kapousouz—doing musical business as Tin Cup Prophette—is, in any case, a talented and energetic fiddler, and she keeps her instrument front and center, from the urgent, appealing pizzicato refrain that opens the song (which, if it repeated unaccompanied for three or four minutes, would not sound out of place in a piece of classical minimalism) to the loops of continuous bowing we hear as a surging and fading swell starting at 1:26. (Apparently Kapousouz has this way of looping her instrument through pedals, and I’m not geek enough to describe that better or to know exactly how it works but it sounds cool.) The other worthy instrument Kapousouz has at her disposal is her voice, a sonorous mezzo at once clear and rich–nicely plain-spoken during the clipped verse, fuller and more passionate during the melodic chorus. “Going Numb” is a track from Tin Cup Prophette’s debut CD, Liar and the Thief, which is another one that was self-released initially, now about to be released nationally—it’s due out later this month on Subway Grime Records, which does not appear to exist online at this point.