RATATAT / classics
GIRL TALK / night ripper
THE DECEMBERIST / the crane wife
CASIOTONE FOR THE PAINFULLY ALONE / etiquette
CHARLOTTE GAINSBOURG / 5 55
XIU XIU / the air force
THE ELECTED / sun, sun, sun
JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE / futuresex/lovesounds
HYlOZOISTS / la fin du monde
BOB DYLAN / mondern times
MEG & DIA / something real
THE VEILS / nux vomica
VOXTROT / mothers, sisters, daughters & wives EP
CAT POWER / the greatest
SUFJAN STEVENS / the avalanche
¡FORWARD, RUSSIA! / give me a wall
SPANK ROCK / YoYoYoYoYo
COBRA STARSHIP / while the city sleeps, we rule the streets
I’m still a firm believer that Midtown’s Forget What You Know is one of the best rock records of the last 20 years. And if you’re scratching your head, wondering and pondering to yourself at my proclamation and to also surely wikipedia’ing who the fuck Midtown is, it would appear to me that I may in fact be the only one who believes this reviews opening statement. Nevertheless, after the untimely demise of Midtown its frontman Gabe Saporta set off into the mountains for a session of soul-searching with intentions to craft together a collection of songs that would be able to bring new life to a dying party. And now, under the moniker of Cobra Starship, Mr. Saporta has done just that with the record entitled While the City Sleeps, We Rule the Streets where he shouts from afar to pull up your dance pants, put on your tapping shoes, strike up the band, pull your partner close to you and let the music decide the night....click to read full review
(originally written on 10/01/06)
(note: to lazy to do a new write-up)
MARGOT & THE NUCLEAR SO & SO'S / the dust of retreat
Margot & the Nuclear So and So’s debut album The Dust of Retreat combines the sounds of folksy acoustic guitars, dynamic electric guitars, silky cellos, and a catchy piano to create a wonderfully unique sound. Within you have big sounding distorted power chords, epic build ups, and soaring vocal melodies all around the album that will leave you humming for weeks. The album presents itself as a journey through life that progressively makes you realize that there are more beautiful things to be concerned about than love. You have themes like the bitterness of life and loss of childhood innocence which are prominent messages throughout the album. In the end you’ll find yourself drifting through an auditory archetype where addiction steers its ugly head into the already existing notion of corrupt love, it’s the fuel to the carbonation of dissent and loneliness - a quiet small reminisce that slides throughout each song, so gentle in simplicity that it encompasses the overall albums path to test the boundaries of what one is capable of achieving. Did that make any sense? Because I’m not too sure it did. It's a good album, that's what I'm trying to say.
THE PIPETTES / we are the pipettes
I’m a sucker for nostalgia and the Pipettes are revitalizing pop's future by mining its past. Just throw in three beautiful polka-dot wearing front woman that channel the Phil Spector girl group sound of the 60s, and you have an album that engulfs you with the feeling that you’re at a beach party with Frankie and Annette, grooving to the soothing tunes while the Fonz attempts to jump over a barrel of hungry sharks.
Let’s get the obvious part of the way; the three dames that make up the face of the Pipettes – Gwenno, Becki, and Rosay - are insanely beautiful and I wouldn’t mind standing at the edge of a beach watching them run towards me in slow-motion, and when we meet will engage in such lush hot poetic steamy sexual debauchery that the world would finally have an answer as to what what global warming really is? Though underneath these pretty faces, the Pipettes actually do posses talent and the musical performances on the album tower above any other preconceived notion one may have from the outset. When throwing on the headphones you'll succumb to the arrangements, all plaintively string-heavy with swingy guitar, doubled-up drum fills, punctuating cymbal crashes, and the scaled-and-separated vocal harmonies - Gwenno Saunders’ gorgeous, rich Diana Ross throwback croon is one of the highlights of the album. What keeps the band from being any other pop music outfit is the delegation of songwriting duties, where all the members The Pipettes - the three front woman and the four members of the backing band dubbed the Cassettes - all contribute in the songwriting process. It's a collective group, throwing back to the ideals of the 60s, where music was all about tapping ones toes to the beat - Nostalgic, yet all the more prevalent to modern times.
MORRISSEY / ringleader of the tormentors
Morrissey is a God. Perhaps not in the whole religious aspect of the word, but he's sure damn close to it. With Ringleader of the Tormentors, it appears that Morrissey has finally found happiness as the majority of the album expresses lyrical optimism and triumph as he declares this discovery from this newfound perspective. Though, it’s not to say that the whole album is all long runs towards your lover a top a mountain with arms wide open as there are a few dramatic tunes that establish that there still lingers epic sadness underneath his soul. Case in point: "Like is a Pigsty", it’s reminiscent of vintage Morrissey, circa-Viva Hate. Raindrops in the intro, steady and progressive build up to the sparring climax, an atmospheric song about loss and misfortune. Vintage Morrissey, enough said. The song "On the Streets I Ran" is reminder that Morrissey can still write a great song, lyrically uplifting or not. In the end the album takes an unusual direction for Morrissey, resulting in an edgier, more rock-oriented sound - also throw in a full orchestra and a choir and you have one unique well crafted Morrissey album that will surely satisfy ones musical cravings.
REGINA SPEKTOR / begin to hope
Picture a blank room, peaceful and humbling. Within the room lays a nice piano, newly bought and newly clean. It lays there glistened with the light that creeps in through cracks of a nearby window. In comes a beautiful lady, brunette, ordinary yet stunning. She sits at the piano; her fingers caress the ivory keys, as a profound smile makes a presence on her face - She plays a song, her voice tender and soft. You watch her, and a cool chill runs down your spine. You’re amazed with wonderment at the power a lonely piano and a tender young lady possess. The woman is Regina Spektor, and the feeling of wonderment is her album Begin to Hope. Miss Spektor’s vocal range and eccentric compositions are fun, mystical, and awe-inspiringly beautiful. Her vocals are an intense attraction, whether she is singing chipper songs such as "On the Radio" or bellowing out dark love tracks like "Apres Moi." And you also can’t deny the utter chillness the song “Fidelity” has within. This release demonstrates that Spektor is not some novelty female artist, but rather a musician who appears to naturally create music as a form of honest expression. A wonderful album this is.
BRAND NEW / the devil and god are raging inside of me
Jesse Lacey is a troubled man, he gives off that Kurt Cobain vibe - a tragic soul enwrapped in his own misery vocalized by catchy melodies and thoughtful lyrical assaults - and with The Devil and God are Raging Inside of Me, this notion as never been more prevalent. On this album, Lacey and the boys break free from the emo stronghold to which they became poster boys for and have created an album full of Catholic overtones, sorrow, and sheer aggression. Its rock music, shot in the veins with some sort of mind-altering chemical, engulfing the listener to feel the pain, the joy, and to look into the eyes of our lord and savoir. But in all its greatness, I just can't help but feel that the album is incomplete. It’s missing those leaked demos, that didn’t make it onto the album. It’s missing the appropriate sequencing. It’s missing that little piece that would have just tipped this album into sheer and utter brilliance. But in this misfortune, the album is still great as it’s a swirling powerhouse of Brand New sensibility coupled with the ghostly sounds of My Bloody Valentine and the antagonism of Nirvana. The future only looks promising for these long island boys.
THE FORMAT / dog problems
If there is one word to describe The Format, it would be consistent. They constantly put out good tunes that enable one to just sit back and relax. With Dog Problems, they clearly have a hold on pop perfection, there is not one song on this album that will leave you alone in the darken corner, sobbing with your ears bleeding. Instead you will find yourself nodding along, dancing, and wondering why you’re naked outside the house of that girl you had a mad crush on in high school. It runs the gauntlet of catchy melodies that progressively becomes a prevalent theme throughout the album, with songs like "I'm Actual" and "The Compromise" hooking listeners as soon as they throw on their headphones, and the orchestration on the track "Dog Problems" is genius. As the last track fades away you’ll find yourself left in awe at all the musical instruments and production tricks they pulled off on this album, and throughout it all this is the type of album you listen to when you’re holding hands with that special someone, or just cursing down the road humming along. Pop perfection.
LUPE FIASCO / food & liquor
I’m no Hip-Hop aficionado. I’ve listen to the genre from time to time listening to some of the greats: Chuck D, Biggie, Jay-Z, Tupac, KRS-ONE, to name a few. Though, it appears nowadays that the lush poetry spouted from the aforementioned has been lost and the genre itself became saturated with cliché. All the acts seem to be rapping about and showing in their videos the exact same thing. Whether it is how gangster they are, or how much money they have, or how bad they’ve had it growing up, all the while having flashy jewelry hanging from their necks and dozens of woman shaking what their mother gave them. It’s not the same, it appears its all about making money, and the art of rhyme has evolved into the art of selling-out.
Enter, Lupe Fiasco. Shall we dub him the “Savior of Hip-Hop?” Absolutely. He’s a breath of fresh air, a dawning of a new era, a lyrical poet that flows. When I first heard the leaked version of Food & Liquor, I was taken back by its sheer greatness. I found myself falling in love with this genre that I lost faith in many years ago. The album was just brilliant, plain and simple. Unfortunately, this leak resulted in the record label pushing back the release date, and enabling Lupe to re-tool the album for the better, if that was even possible. How can one make better, perfection? Well, it appears you can in case of the newly re-tooled Food & Liquor...click to read full review
(originally written on 09/18/06)
(note: to lazy to do a new write-up)
ANGELS & AIRWAVES / we don't need to whisper
Broken, are Tom Delonge’s imaginative constraints he as floats on a cloud to the upper echelon of musical greatness. I was saddened by the news that blink-182 broke up, but all was forgiven when Delonge utters the opening lines to “Valkyrie Missile”. This album brings you places, it thrives to be different then what blink-182 was all about, and it’s a heartfelt extension of expression on Delonge’s behalf. This album is a robot attack to ones ears, firing on all cylinders with epic laser riff precision, and an atmospheric feeling that your hovering above the earth and witnessing first hand what the word beautiful really means. Sure, Tom Delonge can sometimes be pretentious in his over zealous praise of his band and his music, but without pretentiousness we wouldn’t have heroes.
Click here to read my album review
- originally written on 04/12/06
BEIRUT / the gulag orkestar
I remember a while back getting bombarded by one of my friends to check out this band, she went into high praise with feverish excitement about the unattainable glory that the music possessed. She then proceeded to send me one of their songs and at first I was intrigued, yet not completely sold on her worthwhile extol of the band. I then conveniently hid the track into an unnamed folder, and never thought to listen to it ever again. But, soon I would realize the power the song held, and the everlasting effect the album would have. The band in question is called Beirut, the album is named The Gulag Orkestar, and in its teenage prodigy creator Zach Condon we all must trust.
Today’s cloth of teenage musicians tend to write pretentious lyrics cloaked under the aid of an acoustic guitar, or heavily yelling to their hearts content while a band composed of long haired hipsters dish out pseudo-melodic music. Zach Condon is not to be meshed into that scene, because simply said he’s a fucking better than that. Firstly, his voice - this beautifully lithe, lazily acrobatic crooner - it feels as if he is singing from the bottom of well, lost in the middle of a forest as the voice becomes so urgent and emotional, proud and graceful, melodramatic and grandiose, all of which yield for us to stop and just take everything in. Then you have the songs which are utterly simply beautiful. Condon embarks his musical prowess on us by utilizing beautiful Balkan Brass sounds with ukuleles, trumpets, and accordions. “Postcards from Italy” is a swirling classic as it subdues its listener with regal trumpets laid out over shuffling percussions and the strumming of a ukulele. “Prenzlauerburg” is somewhere between a rambling waltz and a forgotten hymn. Then there is the forlorn shuffle of “Brandenburg” which ushers in horns thrumming over a ravine, a mass collection of conflicted emotions while “Scenic World” introduces drum machines and synths that channel the work of Stephen Merritt.
Rather than conforming to the constraints of popular music and what kids his age ought to be doing, Zach Condon goes against the grain and has pieced together an album that spikes curiosity and is vividly lucid with ambition. It’s an album that stays with you long after the final curtain. Images constantly pop into your head of lush forays into the land of gypsies. It’s a Europe that is miles beyond the Eiffel Tower and the Spanish Steps. It’s a land of mystery and misery; the space where dreams and nightmares become indistinguishable. It’s a place where we are meek creatures dressed in dirty clothes, playing instruments found beneath a forgotten wasteland. We march, dancing, and singing until our throats turn red and our voices begin to fade. We are a tattered and glorious mess of bodies lit by spare flames and moonlight. We no longer know who we are, and feel like the ghost of a complete and total stranger. This is the feeling that this album exudes with every thump, crash, rattle and clap. An album that is both boisterous and intimate, whether in a tunnel, a field or a forest. Epic.