“When I’m Alone” – Rosa Mack

Appealing, slow-building scorcher

“When I’m Alone” – Rosa Mack

Slow-burning, slowly-swinging “When I’m Alone” is both a paragon of restraint and (if you wait for it) a let-it-all-hang-out scorcher. The song is steady and magnetic out of the gate, with its deliberate guitar lines and Rosa Mack’s beguiling tone and phrasing. Listen to how she sings “Well I can get used to just about anything” (0:29) as an elusive blend of singing and speaking, redolent of the implied physicality of lips and tongue and breath.

The accompanying instrumentation is precise and crafty, especially when it comes to the horns; check out, as an example, the way they start in one place (1:15) and head in unexpected directions (by 1:21). Then there’s the delicious, slowed-down punctuation these same horns provide at 2:04, a characteristic example here of less is more. The first guitar solo (2:13, with an immediate eight-second pause) presents another dose of fiery restraint.

But the star of the show is surely Mack herself, whose mighty presence is intimated in the song’s somewhat whispery beginnings and revealed increasingly as the song unfolds–first via Mack’s ongoingly deft singing and at last by way of unleashing her pent-up vocal power (from about 3:20 on). That upward glide her voice takes from 3:39 to 3:41 introduces a final climactic section of squalling guitars, foundational horn charts, and potent mostly wordless vocalizing.

“When I’m Alone” is the formidable debut single from the Brisbane-based singer/songwriter, released in November. I’ll be eager to hear more from her when she’s ready.

“Drum Machine” – Roman Ruins

Drummer singing about drumming

“Drum Machine” – Roman Ruins

The lifespan of a rock band in the 21st-century has grown stretchy and indistinct, given the long periods of recording inactivity that often characterizes life as an indie rocker. The band Death Cab for Cutie, now in their 28th year, have released but 10 albums; the Decemberists, 25 years in the game, have released just eight albums. The Kinks, by contrast, put out their 10th album in year eight of their existence. The music industry is obviously a very different animal in 2024 than it was in 1964, but the upshot is an ongoing sense of a time warp. For instance, here now is the New Orleans-based musician Graham LeDoux Hill, who does musical business as Roman Ruins, with a new single from a forthcoming album, and you turn around and see that his last album came out in 2014, while his previous visit to Fingertips was back in 2010. I can’t tell if this seems like ancient history or only yesterday. In any case, a simpler observation is that one can never be sure one has heard the last of any given indie enterprise at any given moment in time.

As for the latest from Roman Ruins, “Drum Machine” may seem a comfortable fit here in the 2020s, with its tight beat, carefully processed effects, and constrained but effective melody, but it also arrives as an homage of sorts to bygone music (and instrumentalists). There’s something warm and familiar about “Drum Machine”‘s laconic melodicism, and a ’70s-art-rock tinge to Hill’s blurry vocals (Eno in particular comes to mind). Meanwhile, you might catch the immediate lyrical reference to Mitch Mitchell, Charlie Watts, and Levon Helm, three classic rock drummers of high standing. And yet right away the contradiction: the song, after all, is called “Drum Machine” and the beat underlying the proceedings does initially sound automated. I am no percussion expert but my guess is that the drumming is actually unautomated, that Hill was initially imitating a drum machine; if I’m not imagining it there’s a subtle shift around 0:30 that suggests this.

The song, it turns out, reads in part as autobiographical; Hill is in fact a drummer, and has notably performed as the touring drummer for the bands Beach House and Papercuts–he even references the Papercuts song “Future Primitive” in the lyrics, which seem replete with elusive references and inside jokes. Hill sings with a lax authority, often behind the beat, which becomes its own sort of inside joke based on the song’s recurring refrain that “timing is everything.” The point he is making by the repeated phrase “I’ll be the drum machine”? Not sure. Perhaps it has to do with his experience drumming on tour for bands that are normally not full bands (Beach House: a duo; Papercuts: a solo project); on their records they likely use drum machines, but on stage they present a human drummer. “I’ll be the drum machine” may be Hill’s ongoing quip. And whether this is the story behind the song or not, there may well also be some metaphorical resonance to the concept. The all-too-human desire to achieve impossible perfection? Our impending status as second-class citizens to the robots? There’s probably also a story behind the song’s prominent, human-generated bass line, the playing of which is credited to Paul Provosty. But, like much about this agreeable song, this remains unrevealed.

“Drum Machine” is an initial release from the Roman Ruins album Isotropes, coming out next month. You can read more about it, and listen to one other song, over on Bandcamp.

The soft spot in my heart

Eclectic Playlist Series 10.11 – December 2023

I’ve curated one holiday-related song into my December playlist, and it’s right there at the top. On the one hand, there are plenty of other places to go for a more generous helping of holiday tunes, if that’s what you’re craving. But I also wanted attention paid to this most humane of seasonal compositions, that it shouldn’t get lost in a candy-coated flow of generic Christmas-ing. “The Christians and the Pagans” by Dar Williams comes to us in 2023 like a long-lost if slightly time-addled friend, a song about personal connection and tolerance, told with open-hearted humor, that reminds us how much these qualities have been shoved aside by the social-media-fueled, extremist-friendly madness that has ruled our collective lives for the past decade. On the one hand, this a straightforward story song with a subtle emotional wallop. (For whatever reason, when Dar sings the line “It’s Christmas and your daughter’s here” I get a lump in my throat, every time. And I’m Jewish.) On the other hand, I read the scene with my 2020s perspective and get a bigger, more intrusive lump in my throat, feeling into the song’s implicit innocence and hopeful fellowship. No one at the dinner table was irrationally angry, no one unwilling to consider another point of view; not unrelatedly, no one at the table was looking at their iPhone, if only because they didn’t exist. Meaning, no one in that world was busy taking pictures of themselves, or insulting strangers from a distance, or blatantly ignoring the people they were sharing space with. I grieve the loss of that world when I hear this song. Whatever improvements we have made together since the 1990s seem not necessarily worth the tradeoff.

Beyond the first track, and perhaps the second, there isn’t any holiday material here, although one can always read between the lines. These mixes, as you know, never arrive to present an overarching theme or particular destination; the ongoing intent is, rather, the (ideally) nimble amalgamation of songs from different eras, a willful stream of divergent sounds towards the goal of one inclusive listening experience. This is the year’s last mix, which means that my self-imposed restriction–no artist featured more than once in a calendar year–will reset the next time we meet. At the same time, I’m always seeking to bring in artists each month that haven’t previously been heard here. This month you’ll encounter nine artists who are entirely new to the Eclectic Playlist Series, not featured at all in any mix dating back to 2014.

Here’s the lineup for December; extra notes below the widget:

1. “The Christians and the Pagans” – Dar Williams (Mortal City, 1996)
2. “Thank God the Year is Finally Over” – Paper Route (Thank God the Year is Finally Over EP, 2009)
3. “Townie” – Mitski (Bury Me at Makeout Creek, 2014)
4. “Whole Wide World” – The Rolling Stones (Hackney Diamonds, 2023)
5. “You’ve Been in Love Too Long” – Martha Reeves & The Vandellas (single, 1965)
6. “Getting Away With It” – Electronic (single, 1989)
7. “Cybernaut” – Tonto’s Expanding Head Band (Zero Time, 1971)
8. “Limbs” – Emma Pollock (Watch the Fireworks, 2007)
9. “Fotzepolitic” – Cocteau Twins (Heaven or Las Vegas, 1990)
10. “Broken Wing” – Lowpines (In Silver Halides, 2018)
11. “All I Can Do” – Carpenters (Offering, 1969)
12. “The Book I Read” – Talking Heads (Talking Heads 77, 1977)
13. “Everything Reminds Me of My Dog” – Jane Siberry (Bound By the Beauty, 1989)
14. “Video Game” – Sufjan Stevens (The Ascension, 2020)
15. “Empty Chairs” – Don McLean (American Pie, 1971)
16. “I Remember” – The Roots (Undun, 2011)
17. “Retour a Vega” – The Stills (Wicker Park original soundtrack, 2004)
18. “Take Good Care of Me” – Rachel Sweet (Protect the Innocent, 1980)
19. “Jeff Goldblum” – Mattiel (Georgia Gothic, 2022)
20. “Astral Weeks” – Van Morrison (Astral Weeks, 1968)

Random notes:

* Mitski is a compelling singer and songwriter, fully inhabiting a variety of sonic landscapes. Her first two albums, in the early ’10s, were recorded as school projects while at SUNY Purchase, and veered mostly towards quiet, off-kilter compositions, some piano-driven, others more idiosyncratically scored. For her 2014 label debut, Bury Me at Makeout Creek, she picked up a guitar for the first time and the music in some cases went in new directions. “Townie” is crunchy and catchy and may take you aback a bit if you’re more familiar with her more recent, silkier (but still idiosyncratic) output.

* I like how the Rolling Stones sound on this new record–snappy, interested, even vibrant, with Mick in fine voice. I’m less in love with the songs themselves; with a couple of exceptions, the songwriting strikes me as humdrummy as some of the generic-sounding song titles (“Depending On You,” “Mess It Up,” “Tell Me Straight”). “Whole Wide World,” however, has a bit of musical sparkle to it, to my ears. The riff-based groove is at once clean and dirty, as Stonesy as they come; on the heels of that, the unexpectedly melodic chorus is a bit of a delight. I salute these guys for still making it happen.

* When visiting the various decades, I often seek to find songs from different years in each decade, for variety’s sake. But sometimes two songs from the same year can be just as illustrative of a decade’s variety. Case in point: “Cybernaut” and “Empty Chairs,” both released in 1971, but would one ever suspect? They seem to be coming to us from different planets, never mind different years. “Cybernaut” is the lead track on one of rock’n’roll’s earliest synthesizer albums, while “Empty Chairs” is a warm and organic song featuring only acoustic guitar and voice. “Cybernaut” is forward-looking, mesmerizing groove, “Empty Chairs” evocative nostalgia. Merriam-Webster, by the way, claims that the first known use of the word cybernaut came in 1989. They are apparently not fans of pioneering electronic music outfits, never mind devotees of the classic British spy show The Avengers, the third episode of the fourth season of which was called “The Cybernauts,” and aired in 1965.

* Most people are familiar with the Carpenters for their run of soft-rock mega-hits in the early 1970s, and perhaps also for Karen Carpenter’s tragic trajectory. But before they became chart-toppers and household names, they had recorded an album called Offering, and were credited as Carpenters (no “the”). The LP went nowhere commercially, but was re-released the following year as Ticket to Ride, after their single “Close to You” went to #1 in the summer of 1970. Offering/Ticket to Ride is notable for being performed largely by Karen and Richard themselves (she on drums, he on keyboards) and for featuring Richard on lead vocals on half of the tracks. As you can tell from “All I Can Do,” the sound is rather different from the vibe they presented as the hits started rolling in that next year.

* While there is nothing at all wrong with Bonnie Raitt’s well-known cover of “You’ve Been in Love Too Long,” the Martha Reeves & The Vandellas original is unbeatable.

* The Stills’ song “Retour a Vega,” sung in French, was an early Fingertips favorite, featured originally here in 2004. The band, formed in Montreal in 2000, were something of a big indie deal back in the ’00s, but called it quits in 2011. The song appeared on the soundtrack to the movie Wicker Park, which featured a purposeful lineup of happening indie bands of the moment, including Death Cab for Cutie, Broken Social Scene, and Snow Patrol.

* I am not normally on board with long, repetitive and/or meandering songs, and furthermore have little patience for Van Morrison’s self-important improvisational shtick. And yet, “Astral Weeks”: somehow it all comes together here–the offhand, inscrutable lyrics, the marvelous acoustic groove, the incisive flute accents, the bass line hook, the wild string arrangements, all conspiring to take listeners, nearly against their will, on a seven-minute ride to some other world than our own. It goes on and on and I guess I enter the slipstream, or some such thing, because it feels over in a flash. For those who may be interested in more background about this song than you thought might be possible to report on, check out the most recent episode of Andrew Hickey’s monumental podcast series A History of Rock Music in 500 Songs, which is partially what brought the song back to the front burner here (although I’ll note I had nearly included it in EPS 10.10, before the Hickey episode; it’s been in my “to be featured at some point” folder for a long time).

“How High” – The Usual Boys

Distinctive character, with guitars

“How High” – The Usual Boys

“How High” is a nifty, left-of-center rocker, pairing a sophisticated riff motif with a disco-derived bass line and hoping for the best. Which turns out to be pretty darn good. While the song doesn’t sound all that much like the Smiths, I sense a bit of a Smiths-like vibe here in terms of the idiosyncratic structure and distinctive character–and, more concretely, the central, lead-like role of the rhythm guitar. Who does this anymore? Probably a good number of people, you just don’t get a lot of them from the algoritihm.

The song takes its time establishing itself, but rather than this involving some sort of slow and/or repetitive vamping (a pet peeve of mine!), this is an introduction that introduces us, properly, to the variety of rhythm guitar refrains upon which the song is constructed. Front man Aleksi Oksanen enters at around 32 seconds, his resonant, slightly distorted baritone delivering a patter of nearly spoken lyrics with charismatic dexterity. The funked up bass line and itchy percussive touches add unanticipated texture, then step away as the chorus (1:03) reprises two of the riffs we heard at the outset: the first slowing down to half time (the “You say, ‘Jump!'” part), the second reasserting the pace (after the “I say, ‘How high?'” part) with a tumble of unresolved chords.

“How High” is a concise song, wrapping up in under three minutes, but still offers a sense of development, partially due to the unfolding guitar work, and partially due to production details that add appeal along the way, including a siren-like guitar heard first around 1:36, and an extra instrumental sound–a synthesizer, or some sort of processed guitar?–that chimes in at 2:20. These are small flourishes but I always appreciate it when someone is continuing to think about and play with a song’s sound from beginning to end, rather than recycling the early parts as is.

The Usual Boys are an international foursome (Finland, Scotland, England, Sweden) based in Germany and playing together since 2017. Released in October, “How High” is the third single to date released by the band from the as-yet forthcoming debut album. Thanks to the band for the MP3.

“Buddy” – Eileen Allway

Subtle power

“Buddy” – Eileen Allway

Deliberate and engaging, “Buddy” has an air of casual accomplishment about it. Everything seems just so, from the short, no-time-signature introduction to the easy, well-built melody of the verse, and then, best of all, the way the song opens up and out in the subtly brilliant chorus. Note too the different vocal ranges and aspects: in the verse, Allway employs a low tone, her voice nearly speaking as much as singing; while in the chorus her voice soars to a powerful upper range. And even here we get two iterations–the airy voice that takes us through the affecting chord change in the first line (starting at 0:51), and the stronger, yearning tone we get in the second line (starting at 0:57). There’s something almost Kate-Bushian in the air here.

The accompaniment feels at once minimal and well-rounded, a deft mix of acoustic and electric guitars. The slide guitar accents heard throughout communicate knowingly, in particular the upward-reaching note that leads into the chorus (first heard at 0:37): simple, striking, perfect. Meanwhile, also in the chorus, the prickly high notes that offer moody fill between the lines of lyrics deliver entirely different but equally canny enhancement. The second time the chorus comes around, lower-register guitar lines add to the carefully crafted atmosphere. Speaking of which, while the lyrics are somewhat hard to decipher, there’s one clear, telling moment, which is at the end of the chorus, when Allway sings, with a pang, “I want to make you fall in love.” Notice how the words pull up short of music here; how much an added “…with me” is implied but unstated. That’s devious in a good way.

Not outlasting its welcome, the song disintegrates at 2:10 with some initial noise, then fading slowly in a mush of distant, repeating vocals, quivering instrumentation, and, near the end, an ominous line of descending, Beatlesque strings, which happen to echo the opening notes of the introduction–another sign of the attentive craft involved in putting “Buddy” together.

Eileen Allway is a singer/songwriter based in the Los Angeles area. “Buddy” is her latest single, released last month. You can (and should!) check out her music on Bandcamp. Thanks to Eileen for the MP3.

“The Town Where I’m Livin Now” – Grandaddy

Bittersweet ode

“The Town Where I’m Livin Now” – Grandaddy

Grandaddy is a venerable band with a dedicated following and a knack for creating quirky, spacey, melodic indie rock; at the center of the sound is the sweet, sometimes high-pitched tenor of front man Jason Lytle. They’ve been around, with at least one notable hiatus, since 1992; their catalog is worth exploring, and isn’t as extensive as you might assume, given the on-and-off longevity–there have only been six original studio albums to date. Live albums and compilation albums are another matter. Case in point: Sumday: Excess Baggage, a B-side and rarities collection spun off the 2003 album Sumday and released digitally in August. “The Town Where I’m Livin Now” is a song that’s been around for years, but without an official studio release until it landed on this 2023 album.

The song is a swaying, bittersweet ode to, let’s face it, a surreal hellhole of a town. I assume that’s part of the joke and/or statement: we all of us here on planet Earth live among all sorts of unpleasantness and disaster, and–if we’re lucky–life goes on. Lytle, as he does, can sound a bit like Neil Young’s mischievous younger brother; the voice is high and winsome and seems to come with a baked-in wink or maybe just a shrug. And if this hits the ear at first like a simple, waltz-time acoustic strummer, keep listening. To begin with, there’s a burbling sound living at the bottom of the mix that doesn’t go away, you just kind of get used to it. Cascading piano arpeggios are buttressed by some looney-bin electronics. And the liturgical way Lytle presents these wacko lyrics is a central part of the not-actually-very-funny joke.

You can check out the whole album on Bandcamp. MP3 via KEXP.

At least we get to watch the show

Eclectic Playlist Series 10.10 – November 2023

As the American baseball season has drawn (at last!) to a close, I’m pulling from the immense scrap heap of musical history a semi-obscure piece of jazzy pop named after a baseball player with the unusual name of Van Lingle Mungo. Mungo was a talented pitcher–a five-time All-Star, playing 11 seasons for the Brooklyn Dodgers and three for the New York Giants in the 1930s and 1940s–but we’d have zero reason to recall him at this point were it not for Dave Frishberg’s weirdly compelling song. With lyrics that are nothing more than names of baseball players from the 1940s strung artfully together, the song “Van Lingle Mungo” was a favorite of the legendary NYC radio DJ Vin Scelsa back in the day, which is how I came to know of it as a relative youngster. Something somewhere reminded me of it this fall, leading to its inclusion at the bottom of this month’s mix. Enjoy the autumnal mood and marvel in particular at the way the players’ names scan perfectly as lyrics.

“Van Lingle Mungo” also acts as an idiosyncratic, unintended bookend to the playlist’s opener, which is another song, now that I think about it, that features lyrics that are merely a list of items: King Crimson’s “Elephant Talk,” in which each verse is comprised of words related to talking, the verses going in alphabetical order from A to E. My favorite moment is in the fourth verse, when vocalist Adrian Belew breaks the format to sing “These are words with a D this time.”

In between these two odd but potent songs you’ll find the usual brew of different sounds and decades intermingling as one extended listening experience. Here, specifically, is what you are in for; extra notes below the widget:

1. “Elephant Talk” – King Crimson (Discipline, 1981)
2. “Bootleg Firecracker” – Middle Kids (single, 2023)
3. “Her Eyes are a Blue Million Miles” – Captain Beefheart (Clear Spot, 1972)
4. “Driven Away” – Mary Lou Lord (Speeding Motorcycle EP, 2001)
5. “I Can’t Believe You Love Me” – Tammi Terrell (Irresistible, 1965)
6. “That Tone of Voice” – Amy Rigby (Diary of a Mod Housewife, 1996)
7. “Australia” – The Shins (Wincing the Night Away, 2007)
8. “Dreaming” – Blondie (Eat to the Beat, 1979)
9. “Eucalyptus” – The National (First Two Pages of Frankenstein, 2023)
10. “Haunt Me” – Sade (Stronger Than Pride, 1988)
11. “Ugly Beauty” – Thelonius Monk (Underground, 1968)
12. “The Big Show” – The Extraordinaires (The Postcard EP, 2011)
13. “Inbetweener” – Sleeper (Smart, 1995)
14. “I’ve Got a Need For You” – David Ruffin (David, recorded 1970-71; released 2004)
15. “Down in the Valley” – The Broken West (I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On, 2006)
16. “The Voice” – The Moody Blues (Long Distance Voyager, 1981)
17. “Red Horse” – Corinne Bailey Rae (Black Rainbows, 2023)
18. “Wanderlust” – Polly Scattergood (Arrows, 2013)
19. “Talisman” – Air (Moon Safari, 1998)
20. “Van Lingle Mungo” – Dave Frishberg (single, 1969)

Random notes:

* “I Can’t Believe You Love Me” was Tammi Terrell’s debut single for Motown, recorded when she was only 20. When her first few records didn’t gain much commercial traction, Berry Gordy partnered her with Marvin Gaye for a series of singles that became major hits, starting with the indelible “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” in 1967. But health problems, which dated back to severe headaches suffered as a child, soon began to interfere with Terrell’s ability to perform. Later that same year she collapsed on stage while singing with Gaye. She was subsequently diagnosed with a brain tumor. After an initial operation she continued to record and perform but her condition would steadily decline. When she died in 1970 she was only 24.

* The National’s cryptically-named album First Two Pages of Frankenstein may be the first release of theirs that captured my ears without hesitation. “Eucalyptus” is one of a number of excellent tracks. That said, I have yet to find time to investigate their surprise follow-up recording, Laugh Track, which shares cover art but offers up 12 new songs just five months after Frankenstein‘s release. It’s almost as if my mind and/or heart can only absorb a certain amount of input from any given artist in the course of a year or so. I’ll get to Laugh Track, which is probably quite good too, but it may yet take a while.

* I missed the memo on this but I am now belatedly glad to know that Mary Lou Lord started singing again in the mid-’10s. I had heard about the serious problem she had with her vocal cords some ten years earlier; it didn’t sound good at the time. And then I lost track of her. (There’s so much to keep track of!) So I’m just now realizing that she returned in 2015 with her first album since 2004, the self-released Backstreet Angels. More recently, the British label Fire Records released a career retrospective double-album last year called She’d Be a Diamond, with all the good stuff–a great introduction to a special artist if you’re not familiar with her. “Driven Away” is a song from the 2001 mini-EP Speeding Motorcycle, and can also be found on the 2022 Fire Records release.

* It’s a bit startling to listen to “The Big Show” and realize that the Extraordinaires, from Philadelphia, released the song in 2011. Were things already that bad back then? They wrote this when Twitter was still on the upswing, and the idea of President Donald Trump would have seemed a bad joke. Here’s how it starts:

We say it like it’s true then watch it put down its roots
And blossom from the gossip into truth
We’re in the weeds up to our knees
It’s hard to tell the poison from the fruit

Little did they know! The Extraordinaires have been a duo, a four-piece, and a five-piece band, while in recent years settling into a trio. Of their dozen or so releases of various lengths, the single “Monika,” from 2020, is their most recent. “The Big Show” appeared on their 2011 EP Postcard. You can explore the whole catalog over on Bandcamp.

* David Ruffin was one of the lead singers for the Temptations during their classic run from 1964 to 1968. “I’ve Got a Need For You” is from a solo album that he recorded in 1970 and 1971 but which, somehow, wasn’t released until 2004. And while I didn’t do this at all on purpose, in doing a bit of research I came upon the slightly uncomfortable fact of Ruffin’s abusive relationship with the aforementioned Tammi Terrell, which included the fact that he proposed marriage to her while (surprise!) it turned out he was already married. Life, in case you aren’t yet aware, is pretty messy.

* The Australian trio Middle Kids remain one of my favorite bands to come on the scene in recent years. Attentive readers here may remember seeing “Bootleg Firecracker” briefly featured here earlier in 2023; I had to take the review down when it came to my attention that the download had been removed from the site that initially hosted it. So here it is more permanently. The other new single the band released this year, “Highlands,” is also excellent. A new album is expected early next year.

* Standard-issue rock music history has it that the mighty prog-rock dinosaurs who ruled the scene beginning in the late ’60s were killed off, asteroid style, by the punk rock assault of the late ’70s. The truth is more nuanced than that, as seen in two divergent entries in this month’s mix. We have the aforementioned “Elephant Talk,” which saw a prog-rock band shift nimbly into new wave territory, managing to create an up-to-date identity while maintaining the King Crimson name. And we also have the Moody Blues, who let the new wave crash all around them, informing some new sounds while they remained true to their musical core; the in-the-moment effort, 1981’s Long Distance Voyager, stands as one of their best, with the lead single “The Voice” sounding at once familiar and fresh. The band’s long and complicated history is too much to get into here; note simply that they persisted, with some commercial success, well past the punk rock interruption, before devolving in the 2000s into a live nostalgia act.

* For those who enjoy these extra notes each month, you should know that visitors who receive the Fingertips newsletter get a few additional blurbs in the email accompanying each playlist. Sign up details are in the sidebar to the right.

“Something Wrong” – Hand Habits

Hypnotic veneer, melodic core

“Something Wrong” – Hand Habits

Thumpy, minimal, and deliberate at the outset, “Something Wrong” turns melodic and bittersweet in the chorus. The song’s instrumental and structural diversity is a subtle super power here; we get gently strummed acoustic guitars and crunchy electric guitars mingling agreeably, with austere synthesizer lines waiting in the wings, while the time signature bump in the verse, with its 6/4 insertions, keeps the ear off-balance (in a good way). The brief a capella break at 1:01 resets the vibe and leads into some subtle but terrific vocal harmonies. That insistent instrumental lead at 1:26, running through the verse without the vocals, is either a synth or a processed guitar of some kind; at 2:14, it’s definitely the synthesizer, offering a new melodic line and–listen for it–a plucky banjo in the background mix. The song’s hypnotic veneer masks over its variegated elements, coalescing in the plaintive beauty of the simple chorus.

Hand Habits is the name guitarist Meg Duffy uses for their solo work. Highly credentialed as a session guitarist for the likes of the War on Drugs, Weyes Blood, and Perfume Genius, they were also lead guitarist in Kevin Morby’s live band from 2015 to 2018. “Something Wrong” is a track from the six-song EP Sugar the Bruise, which was released in June. MP3 via KEXP.

“If You Care” – Post Modern Connection

Sprightly feel, melancholy undercurrent

“If You Care” – Post Modern Connection

There’s a refreshing Haircut 100 vibe to this sprightly romper with a melancholy undercurrent. Two guitars in interplay anachronistically drive us forward–crisp skittery guitar for the rhythm, a bright finger-picked guitar on top for the lead. I’m really connecting to the maturity of the sound here, and while I’m not even exactly sure what I mean by that, I’m guessing it’s to do with a few different details: the dusky tone of front man Tega Ovie’s wistful voice, delivered without electronic gimmickry; the aforementioned guitar work, which you’re not hearing much if any of in the music aimed at and consumed em masse by the TikTok generation; and also something in the lyrics, which seem at once simple and elusive and conjure a scenario that feels miles removed from the uncurbed rhyming and pouty relationship micro-management stories that infect pop music produced by and/or aimed at the aforementioned generation. On the one hand this is old guy talk; on the other hand, if musical standards have any long-term meaning, there is good reason to be dispirited by a lot of what’s out there getting millions of streams here in 2023. In this context, “mature” is a major compliment and breath of fresh air from a new-ish band.

Post Modern Connection is a duo from British Columbia, with Georges Nasrallah alongside Ovie. Theirs is a multicultural partnership–Ovie is from Nigeria, Nasrallah from Lebanon. PMC used to be a larger band but they seem to have reduced post-COVID. “If You Care” is a single released in September. Post Modern Connection has one EP under their belts, 2021’s Clustered Umbrella, and a second one coming out in November, entitled A Welcome Change, which is where you’ll find “If You Care.”

“Creampuff” – Soltero

Homey and unhurried

“Creampuff” – Soltero

“Creampuff” lopes along with an attractive offhandedness; the 18 or so seconds the song takes to settle into its spangly, lo-fi groove is a good indication of how simultaneously casual and purposeful things are going to be here. Tim Howard, Soltero’s front man and general mastermind, sings with a waver that is not to be corrected or denied; I think he skates pretty close to losing pitch here and there as well, although my ear isn’t perfect on the one hand so I can’t be sure, and on the other hand I enjoy loose, human voices like this, so the wavery voice and pitch are fine by me. Vocal perfectionists be warned.

In any case, “Creampuff” is homey and unhurried, positioning sneaky-strong melodies on top of a twangy, off-kilter accompaniment–all instruments, it should be noted, played by Howard. Structurally, the song is an amiable parade of interrelated sections; how much are repeats and how much are different iterations–never mind what’s a verse and what’s a chorus and hey is that a bridge in there too?–is difficult to work out without a lot of careful listening, but that itself is part of the charm. The overall effect is a friendly musical saunter–until, that is, the song crosses paths with an unexpected gong and muted alarms around 3:49. A tremulous, winding-down coda ensues, by the end rendering the bulk of “Creampuff” something of a dimly remembered dream. My immediate inclination is to hit the play button again.

Tim Howard is an American who has been living in Germany since 2018. “Creampuff” is the first English-language song he’s recorded since 2017. Soltero through its extended lifetime has been both a band and a solo project for Howard. This is now the fifth time Soltero has been featured here, dating all the way back to 2004; see the Artist Index for details.