Fingertips

“Scandinavian Warfare” – Champagne Riot

“A lot of bands these days seem to be either scared of or not good enough at writing good songs,” says Caspar (yes, just Caspar), the somewhat mysterious Berlin-based Dane who records as Champagne Riot. He finds this particularly ironic given that today’s production techniques allow songs to sound better than ever. Caspar himself, on the other hand, aims to write really good songs without in fact fussing too much over equipment and such. He apparently does what he does with little more than a Roland MC-307 groovebox (which is a DJ tool) and a couple of old guitars. “My focus is very much on creating simple and melodic music, and getting the most out of the primitive equipment I have at hand.”

Not that “Scandinavian Warfare” sounds primitive by any means; this is one smooth piece of power pop, with a grand neo-’80s sheen (sweeping, orchestral synth lines; robotic dance beats). True to his intention, Caspar delivers glorious melody in three places: verse, chorus, and the recurring synthesizer riff. It’s nothing complicated; he works nicely with two basic types of alternations–an alternation between major and minor chords, and an alternation between a faster (verses) and a slower (chorus) melody. And I think the man is selling his equipment short a bit—he’s obviously got a decent microphone up his sleeve somewhere, as the pleasing timbre of his impressively elastic voice (often double-tracked) comes through with warmth and clarity.

“Scandinavian Warfare” is a track from Champagne Riot’s debut EP Paris and I, which was released last week on Shelflife Records. MP3 via Shelflife. Thanks to Chris from Music of the Moment for the lead. And don’t forget to vote, even if you have to wait in line.

“Black/White” – the Raveonettes

The Raveonettes, the fuzzy, atmospheric, neo-retro duo from Denmark, have an enviable knack for making cool songs, and making it seem easy, except of course it’s not, otherwise everyone would be making cool songs. (Which they’re not, when last I checked.) The whole, as usual for these guys, exceeds the sum of the parts, which, initially, are straightforward: a nimble, repeating bass line, fuzzed-up beats, deadpan vocals, and a distant guitar melody that has surely been lifted from some garage-rock nugget from the 1960s, or should have been. The first juxtaposition of that guitar against that contemporary beat (at 0:36) is what, I think, propels this song into full coolness–and then, all the better, the second time, when the beat itself retreats into the blurry distance, along with the guitar (1:18).

So we’re slinking along like that, the imperturbable Sharin Foo cooing the noir-ish lyrics (that’s her on the bass as well), introducing each guitar break with a detached “yeah yeah yeah,” but check out the feedback that lingers after the second break (1:31), and note the barely discernible presence of another guitar, scratching at the edge of the sound for the third verse, waiting for something. That something turns out to be the Raveonettes’ signature electronic noise, which rushes into the song at 1:56, complete with an old-fashioned powering-up effect, and, with that extra guitar in the background, fleshes out the recurring guitar line with a very gratifying burst of well-textured racket.

In the end, not a moment in this perfect-pop-length song is misplaced, and maybe that is truly the root of its mysterious appeal, as the duo generates complexity via uncanny control of relatively simple specifics. “Black/White” can be found on the band’s digital-only EP Beauty Dies, which was released last week on Vice Records, the third of four EPs scheduled out in 2008.

“And I” – Portugal. The Man
     Wasilla, Alaska’s favorite sons (we’ll keep the daughters out of it) return to Fingertips with another indelible shot of at once forward- and backward-looking 21st-century rock. “And I” sways to a 3/4 beat, walking a splendid line between humility and swagger, with the air of some easy-flowing ’70s arena staple, and yet, also, with something firmer, newer, and more hand-crafted in its bones.
     As might be inferred by the curious (and curiously punctuated) name, Portugal. The Man is one inscrutable quartet; like many of today’s introspective indie-rockers, they seem happy enough knowing what they’re doing without much caring whether the rest of us do or not. (Their not-very-clear Wikipedia entry is a good example of this; the reader is left not even knowing what the band’s name actually is, or why.) This inscrutability might be aggravating if the music weren’t so effortlessly well-built and rewarding. “And I” unfolds by adding musical elements you might not realize are necessary precisely when they are, from the intro’s psychedelic organ line to the vaguely gospelly, falsetto backing vocals (first chiming in at 1:14 and 1:28, but keep your ears on them the rest of the way), to the Led Zep-pish blast of squonky guitar at 2:00, to what surely sounds like a cello at 3:49. By the end of this one, as guitars slash and churn against those insistent “ooo-ooo-ooo”s in a windswept landscape that is either triumphant or post-apocalyptic (can’t tell), we have surely been through some kind of epic. Just don’t ask me what any of it was about.
     “And I” is from the CD Censored Colors, which came out last month on the band’s own label, Apprpoaching AIRballoons, in conjunction with the Albany, N.Y.-based indie label Equal Vision Records. MP3 via Equal Vision.

“Surprises” – the New Monarchs
     Tune in right away here, so you don’t miss the ear-catching intro, with its striking juxtaposition of literally offbeat synthesizer lines and wordless, chant-like vocals. That’s quite a way to start a song, and the good news is that this Minneapolis-based electronica duo has yet more up its sleeve, including, of all things, kick-ass guitars.
     I don’t often warm up to electronica precisely because I’m just not an unadulterated beep-and-boop-and-beat fan. (And there’s nothing wrong with those who are, mind you. I just don’t tend to hear the music in it.) But “Surprises” had me sitting up after that introduction, and kept me interested with the minimalist approach the song initially takes with its electronics, the clicky beat and buzzy synthesizer almost melding together, clutter-free, in a sort of secondary introduction. The melody, when the singing starts, proceeds at a much slower pace than the beats, giving Sean Hogan ample chance to show off his scuffed-up tenor, and leads, seamlessly, into a reprise of the chant-like melody of the introduction (starting at 1:06). The song at this point acquires an almost hymn-like force, before sliding into a circular, hypnotic middle section featuring repetitive keyboard lines and keening, breathy vocals.
     And what of the aforementioned guitars? Perhaps these are the surprises of the title. Keep listening, you can’t miss them. Hogan kind of fades behind the blaring screen of sound for a while, but don’t lose track of him, as his unwavering tone is one of the song’s few continual characteristics. “Surprises” is a song from the band’s debut CD, Blueprints, which comes out this week on Soup Bowl Records, also based in Minneapolis. MP3 via Soup Bowl.

“The Great Depression” – Midwest Dilemma
     A brisk, bittersweet country waltz, “The Great Depression” tells a vague but insistent story of deprivation and resolve, via a 23-piece folk orchestra. Front man and songwriter Justin Lamoureux, from Omaha, sings with a refreshing, scuffed-up solidity–no wispy, chamber pop tenor he–but at the same time leaves plenty of room for the contraption-like menagerie of guitars and winds and strings and percussion that is Midwest Dilemma, as they pump and sway (and, occasionally, squeak) along with him. I picture Lamoureux singing from smack in the middle of it all, sometimes needing to stand on tiptoes to be noticed.
     The album on which you’ll find “The Great Depression” is called Timelines & Tragedies, and was self-released in May. It apparently tells stories of Lamoureux’s family history, spanning some 400 years (this song is not a current political statement, just to be clear). The indie scene of the ’00s has definitively given birth to this sort of docurock–idiosyncratic, often incomprehensible takes on personal and cultural history. Neutral Milk Hotel may have spawned the trend 10 years ago, with the strange but seminal In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. You need a good melody to carry this kind of thing off; a compelling arrangement is another plus. “The Great Depression” scores on both counts. The harmonies provided by Elizabeth Webb enhance the power of the song’s resilient tune, and as for the arrangement, pay particular attention to how oceanic the earnest, acoustic churn of the ensemble becomes during the song’s closing half-minute. Some songs do not need to be fully understood to be gotten.

“Snowblind” – +/-<
     This one starts as intimate electronica, the twitchy percussion blipping with a startling three-dimensionality, while a tranquil keyboard offers muted chords and James Baluyut sings a soft series of interrupted phrases so casually he may as well be talking. It’s 50 seconds before we hear a guitar, and what it gives us at first is a careful, reverberant line that joins in with the calm itchiness thus far unfolding.
     Calm itchiness is not going to hold, of course. At 1:48, as the lyrics tell us that there is “no way to draw the poison out,” the guitar breaks from its noodly mode and offers a ringing rhythm with the most wonderful chords–chords that sound at once central and off-center, urgent and restrained, obvious and oblique. This goes on for half a minute; it’s interesting, come to think of it, that the guitar solo is all rhythm rather than lead. Interesting too that without an obvious chorus, the solo comes as a surprise, and not just for its volume and texture. We haven’t been prepared for it by the song’s structure. When Baluyut returns, he’s singing in a higher register, still the same sort of interrupted phrases, and then here’s the moment I, somehow, love most of all: at 3:36, when he leaps to falsetto and holds the word “you” through a downward series of notes (in classical music, they’d call that a melisma), twice. By now the flurry of guitar and full-fledged drumming is all but blizzard-like, creating an aural version of the title’s state (which, lyrically, is metaphorical, not actual).
     “Snowblind” is from the new +/- (say “Plus/Minus”) album, Xs On Your Eyes. This is the Brooklyn-based trio’s fourth, and it’s due out this week on Absolutely Kosher Records. MP3 via Absolutely Kosher.