Category: MP3s

“Somebody Tried to Steal My Car” – Super700
     This one is sleek, smoky, and melodramatic in a way that it’s not possible to be if you don’t have a stage full of people in the band. Nothing against trios–because I love trios–but there’s something that sheer size brings to musical ambiance. Things simmer into existence in a large-ensemble crucible that otherwise wouldn’t materialize.
     It’s also difficult to be this sleek, smoky, and melodramatic, I should note, without a sleek, smoky, melodramatic lead vocalist, and Ibadet Ramadani scores high on all counts, and then some. Above everything else her voice gives the song its power because there’s something darker and untamed lurking just below her enticing, sugary tone. Ramadani’s two backing singers are her sisters, which adds uncommon resonance to the vocals, especially during the recurring wordless melody we hear first during the introduction (which features, by the way, wonderful melodic movement and hinges on an unusual ninth interval). Lyrically, the song unfolds with dream-like leaps in narrative, while Ramadani’s poise and power gives lines like “Although I was raised by wolves/I want to be a tiger” their bite, as it were, and turns the chorus’s follow-up refrain (“And if I was a tiger/What would you be?”) into a resonant mystery. (Okay, should be “were,” but oh well.)
     Super700 are based in Berlin. “Somebody Tried to Steal My Car” is a song off the band’s second CD, Lovebites, produced by Rob Kirwan (who has worked with U2, Elastica, and New Order, among many others) and released at the end of February on the German label Motor Music.

“I Must Be Dreaming” – the Monolators

Doing their best to find the Venn Diagram intersection between Buddy Holly, Jonathan Richman, and, say, Win Butler is the L.A.-based quintet the Monolators, all the while skating somewhere along that fine line that (sometimes) separates garage rock from indie pop. Backed by speeded up, bottom-heavy Cricket rhythms, vocalist Eli Chartkoff here employs an endearing sort of yelling/singing to express the defiant disappointment of the unlucky in love.

Keeping this from becoming just another edgy bit of indie angst is the band’s forcefully choreographed primitivism, driven by tom-toms, handclaps, a feverish bass line, and reverb-laced guitar squawks. As a group they never stray too far from their inner Buddy Holly: check out how the 30-second instrumental break in the center of the song (beginning at 1:13) begins with the band flying in different directions only to coalesce (1:31) into full Cricket mode. These are some of rock’n’roll’s most primal rhythms. They still work because they never stopped working; we just sometimes stop paying attention. This is song is less homage than reminder.

The Monolators began life in 2002 as a trio, stripped down at one point to a husband-wife duo (Eli and his wife Mary), and now appear to be a five-piece. You’ll find “I Must Be Dreaming” on the CD Don’t Dance, the band’s third, which was released this past fall. Thanks to Largehearted Boy for the head’s up.

“Davy Crockett” – South Ambulance
     Friendly, skewed, comfortably messy, unexpectedly melodic, and totally what I want to hear this week. Could be the way the introduction takes Radiohead’s “No Surprises” and recasts it as a goofy, upbeat adventure, could be the homespun nature of the big-hearted beat and wall-of-sound vibe, or maybe it could even be the snug nostalgia of the title (“Davy Crockett” evokes a bygone childhood as well as any proper name I can think of), but this song surely makes me smile. I love music that makes me smile out of pure instinctive reaction, not because it’s literally funny (truthfully, I have no idea what’s going on lyrically).
     There’s something Beach Boysy in the dense, tuneful, vocally-oriented setting here, but this is no ironic/retro homage; “Davy Crockett,” rather, sounds like something Brian Wilson might do right now if he happened to be 25 again and working in a Swedish band in the 21st century. Even at his Pet Sounds apex, there was something handmade and idiosyncratic about Wilson’s lush creations; South Ambulance has likewise put this half-churning, half-soaring concoction together with seemingly as much duct tape as megabytes. Even as background harmonies contribute texture and floating synthesizer lines add an almost majestic sheen, the sometimes straining lead vocals keep us from gliding into woozy bliss. As if to drive home the point, the mix changes at around 2:28 to expose these voices, for 10 seconds or so, minus the reverb you almost didn’t notice until it’s stripped away; and they may sound harsh and slightly out of tune but they also feel abruptly present: you can suddenly sense mouths and lips and cheeks and microphones in a way that seems reassuring and handcrafted. Music peopled by people, not programmed and looped.
     South Ambulance is a quintet from Stockholm that has been playing together since 2003. “Davy Crockett” is the lead track from the band’s latest EP, entitled EP#4, released this week on Indiecater Records, a digital only label based in Dublin. Two more South Ambulance EPs (#5 and #6) are due out on Indiecater before year’s end.

“No Twig” – the Silt
     A sauntering, harmony-laced, downtempo showcase for some kooky guitar work, “No Twig” has the melody and ambiance of something off American Beauty as performed by Will Oldham. A Toronto trio with unusual musical talents, the Silt (as in “fine sand carried by running water”) is compromised of guys known to play instruments such as bass flute, trombone, and bass clarinet, while the drummer, one Marcus Quin, plays the bass and drum at the same time, probably for some very good reason which I just can’t happen to imagine.
     In “No Twig,” however, it’s all about the guitars, which appear subdued and orderly for the first minute or so, while the song is dominated by some deft group harmonies, only to begin playing flourishes, between lyrical lines, that give Wilco a run for the money for their odd textures and twangy-tinkly dissonances. Meanwhile, singer Ryan Driver, left on his own, has a quavery voice that enjoys exploring the elastic spaces around the actual melody, furthering the impression that at any moment this thing could just fall apart, mere anarchy loosed upon the tune. But memories of those beautiful harmonies linger, and eventually they return, the guitars settle down, somewhat, and this long but engaging piece of twisted Americana finds its ending.
     I have no explanation as to why a song like “No Twig” can sit quietly in my listening folder for a couple of months when suddenly, on one brisk light blue late March day, it strikes me as a song that needs to be heard, shared, written about, contemplated. But such is the way music works (in my brain, at least). “No Twig” can be found the CD Cat’s Peak, released in January on Fire Records in the U.K.; the disc had been previously self-released in Canada in 2007.

“City Lights (Days Go By)” – Bob Mould

There’s something uncharacteristically sprightly and limber about this new song from one of indie rock’s pioneers. It’s not just that vibe-like synth line in the intro (although that’s pretty darned sprightly); and it’s not just that he’s singing in his more nimble upper register rather than that forbidding lower register of his; it’s really the whole melodic structure and instrumental framework that lends this song a refreshing openness that Mould’s work hasn’t had, from what I’ve heard of it over the years.

I’m going to have a hard time explaining this one, but Mould has tended previously to write songs that, whatever their various merits, seemed mired in very specific sorts of chord changes and melodic patterns. Right from the start, “City Lights” breaks free with its opening melody—a melody that starts high and descends, and a melody that not only features but begins with held notes (the “Days go by” part, with each word held for two beats). It’s a very small thing that nonetheless generates a notable aural change for Mould, who typically writes music directly to the lyrics, one note for each syllable except maybe at the end of the line. Even as the song unfolds through some turns and changes that are distinctly Mouldian (listen for instance to the chorus, that interval he describes at 1:28 as he hits the word “need”: now that’s Bob Mould), the ongoing sense of flow and uplift has him sounding oddly Paul Weller-like. (Who has his own issues, come to think of it, when it comes to being mired in a sonic rut, but never mind.) Even with that drone that Mould manages to imply via the production—there’s actually not one particular instrument droning, but it somehow feels like there is—this song moves, and buoyantly.

“City Lights (Days Go By)” is a song from the new CD, Life and Times, to be released next month on Anti Records. MP3 via Spinner.

“Rome” – Dog Day

The first five seconds of “Rome” sound like something straight off Murmur (the song’s title does have the letters R.E.M. in it, yes?), but as soon as the floating synthesizer enters, sounding spookily like a voice, and the easy-flowing yet complex rhythm takes hold, I feel myself transported into some different if equally mysterious sort of place. Bassist Nancy Urich, singing lead here, offers a slightly distant, semi-transparent vocal style that both pulls us in and keeps us at a distance, while the band’s seemingly foggy sensibility disguises a grand capacity to burn and churn (see the extended coda, that starts around 3:48, for a glimpse of it).

There’s a lot going on here, but the central compelling feature on display, to my ears, is the fluid use of shifting time signatures. The verse appears to be constructed of three measures of 6/8 time plus one measure of 8/8 (that’s my guess, anyway); the chorus offers standard 4/4 time, yet with seamless transitions. Listen to how the recurring guitar line, which shepherds us through the 6/8 measures, adapts itself without a hitch to 4/4 time as well (compare the music that begins at 0:16 to 1:16, for instance). Or, for a particularly simple yet inventive shift, check out the break that begins around 3:06: it’s just a straight, unadorned drumbeat; somewhere along the way we go from four to six beats but there’s no way to tell exactly where.

Dog Day is a two-boy, two-girl quartet from Halifax. “Rome” is from the band’s new album, Concentration, to be released next month on the Canadian label Outside Music.