The New Rags – Take Jennie to Brooklyn EP

Anyone who fashions themselves a fan of independent music lives in the New York City/New Jersey metro area has no doubt heard of WFMU. This freeform radio station, broadcasting out of Jersey City, New Jersey, has become one of the most influential independent stations in the country by not relying on a playlist and putting no restrictions on their DJs. Each listen proves to be an adventure; with obscure New Jersey garage rock from the 80s rubbing up next to and even more obscure jazz piano piece from the 1940s segueing into an obscure Indian techno remix of “She Said She Said.” Most people, after 15 or so musical tangents, will turn the dial and never look back. For the patient though, sometimes, among the piles of stuff you’re not interested in, you will find a little piece of music so odd, yet lovable, it makes the experience worth it. Meet The New Rags- your new favorite ragtime-rock band. Although I have yet to hear the band on WFMU, they would fit perfectly onto the station’s “anything that sounds good” spectrum. Their Rhodes and drums lineup could easily fall into psychedelic territory (see Quasi) or cutesy-pop (Mates of State), but instead, they sound like a guitar band sans guitar; a really good guitar band.

The swagger of “Your Room,” the all-too-brief opening track off their new (and first) EP, Take Jennie to Brooklyn, recalls a slightly jazzy AC/DC of all things. “Surf the Seven Sees” is probably the only true surf-rock song I’ve heard in ages. The album highlight is certainly “It’s Over,” a classic breakup song propelled by mid-tempo bluesy rhythm, and lyrics like, “I’m free from all those stupid names you used to call me.” “Russian March,” is the album’s sole misstep, a track that is little more than song length keyboard solo. All is redeemed by the bouncy “Love of My Life,” the EP’s excellent closer.

The New Rags a band simply too good to be labeled a gimmick. When an album can rock this hard with nary a 6 string in sight, the question needs to be asked- who needs guitar when you’ve got a Rhodes? I’m eagerly waiting the full length.

(Silent Stereo Records)

Overise – A Long Story

Are you an aging emo kid in recovery? Do you reminisce about the days when emotional pop rock was unadulterated by hideous caterwauling, shameless commercialism, and next-big thing claims? Does Kenny Vasoli’s voice give you a mean case of the warm fuzzies? If you’re feeling nostalgic for the earnest rock of three years ago, Overise’s debut EP A Long Story will send you back in time to a more innocent age. With catchy hooks and melodious, scream-free choruses, the disc is by no means a terrible start for this band of newbies. However, Overise strictly play by the rules of pop punk and scarcely abandon the formulas of other bands, two choices that seriously hinder their style.

Like any decent introduction to a new band, A Long Story showcases the many sounds of this Philadelphia quartet of do-it-yourself-ers. Kicking off with the catchy single “Outside,” Overise displays an enthusiastic energy and a knack for memorable melodies. On the opposite end of the spectrum, the piano-laced “Part Time Crush” sounds like a long lost Something Corporate track, subtle and satisfyingly emotive but not entirely original. Likewise, “Heaven,” an upbeat, sped up rocker, is painfully average because it contains less innovation than the disc’s best track, “Outside.” On “Heaven,” the band sounds strikingly similar to The Starting Line circa Say It Like You Mean It. On “Outside,” the band sounds like Overise. Listeners will likely prefer the latter.   

With a sound that is a bit dated but wholly genuine, Overise is perfect for fans of JamisonParker and the early Drive-Thru Records roster. While A Long Story falls victim to the same heartbroken, juvenile lyricism and redundancy exhibited by some like-minded bands, it does have its share of shining moments. The disc is at its best when Overise show through rather than their influences, which can’t be said about many new bands. If the band members can work through this early identity crisis and establish their own sound, they could easily catch up to or even surpass the bands they admire. Despite an unremarkable recording debut, Overise does prove to be a band to watch.

(self released)

Self Against City – Take It How You Want It EP

Rushmore and Drive Thru folks describe this music as catchy pop songs coupled with rock and roll beats. They honestly are doing their own band a great disservice because I definitely wouldn’t lump this band into the hundreds among hundreds of the all too familiar watered down pop punk bands that fill the pages of PureVolume and MySpace. Being the first band on Drive Thru’s new sister label Rushmore, it’s a typical and expected signing but its refreshing to know that Self Against City does have potential to grow based on this EP. Self Against City are way more accomplished, polished and tight with their musicianship than most bands of their genre.

Yes, the music isn’t breaking any new boundaries or forging into any uncharted waters, and it does fit into the pop rock genre but the execution and delivery of these songs are what give Self Against City the possibility of a bright future. They honestly sound like they have been playing together for years so there is clearly an abundance of talent with all these guys. While the band plays the pop punk format of music the lyrics and vocals are delivered in a more mature fashion and the song topics range from more than just relationships gone bad. The lyrics also come across pretty open-ended which leaves everything open to interpretation. Vocalist Jonathan Temkin also has an above average voice, which is a nice change of pace from the shrill vocals that often accompany the pop punk style.   

The EP also is structurally put together neatly with most songs being very aggressive and blaring but they manage to slow things down a bit like on the track, “Speechless.” It offers a nice break down early on in the EP. The band also manages to change and shift the guitar tones around quite a bit to make each track a little different offering some variety where it is rather hard to find in the pop punk genre anymore. It will be interesting to see how this band makes the jump from EP to full-length. Lately, it seems a lot of up and coming bands are doing an above average job with their EP’s because with only five or six songs they are able to offer just the right amount of material to satisfy. It seems to me though that at least Self Against City seem conscience of this as they already have put their EP together with this in mind so with their full-length, they should be all right. I also must admit that I was very skeptical of this whole Rushmore thing- figuring it was an excuse to release more of the same. And while Self Against City fit into the Drive Thru formula, they really are an above average band with their execution and I think they definitely have the talent to grow.

(Rushmore Records)

Various Artists – Punk Goes 80’s

The most important thing I’ve learned from American Idol is that when covering a song, song choice is everything, dawg. To begin with, it has to be a song that your audience knows or it may not hold their attention. This is where Midtown, Emery, and A Thorn For Every Heart go wrong on this compilation. While there is no Billy Idol, Duran Duran, Culture Club, or the Cars here, these bands illogically chose to perform songs from The Outfield, Bonnie Tyler, and Oingo Boingo. The core audience for these “punk” bands, likely composed of the under-18 set, doesn’t know these songs and would be less likely to call in a vote (if this were a televised talent contest).

Secondly, you should choose a song that hasn’t been covered before. For example, you never saw Clay Aiken performing the same song as Ruben Studdard. If you do choose a song that has been covered earlier, you better be damn sure that you can pull it off better than they did. Four artists on Punk Goes 80’s violated this rule, and only two emerge victorious. 

I decided to show this in the ever popular battle format. It is better if you imagine each band in spandex and Mexican luchadore masks.

COVER BATTLE #1: SUGARCULT VS. MEST

Sugarcult provide an early, three-minute festival of yawns with “I Melt With You.” It’s pretty bad when Mest, who covered the song for the soundtrack to 2001’s ridiculously bad Not Another Teen Movie, do a better job on a song than your band. In Cover Battle #1, the “What’s the Dillio?” guys totally kick Sugarcult’s collective asses, and that is sad.

COVER BATTLE #2: RUFIO VS. YELLOWCARD

Simple Minds’ “Don’t You Forget About Me,” covered here by Rufio, was also recently covered by Yellowcard at the annual celebrity ego-fest known as the MTV Movie Awards. Apparently Yellowcard had discovered a cure for insomnia and were very excited to share it with the world and to accompany it with a montage of scenes from The Breakfast Club. Rufio’s version is energized and more complex, making them the clear winners here.

COVER BATTLE #3: AMBER PACIFIC VS. PRESIDENTS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

“Hey! Why don’t we cover the Buggles’ “Video Killed the Radio Star!” Nobody’s done that before…” In fact, the Presidents of the United States of America covered the song six years ago for the soundtrack to Adam Sandler’s The Wedding Singer. The song wasn’t only heard in theatres. It was also a radio hit and has been played on many a VH1 countdown since. On the other hand, Amber Pacific’s rendition sounds more like a cover of the Presidents’ cover than of the original song. Amber Pacific loses because their cover is completely unnecessary.

COVER BATTLE #4: GATSBY’S AMERICAN DREAM VS. 311

While Gatsby’s American Dream and 311 covered different Cure songs (“Just Like Heaven” and “Love Song,” respectively), I wanted to compare them because I am still enraged over 311’s blasphemous, reggae-tinged trainwreck. After hearing the cover of “Love Song” on the radio, I ranted about the untouchable nature of the Cure for at least twenty minutes. Surprisingly, Gatsby’s American Dream does a great job with “Just Like Heaven.” After an arduous battle between good and evil, Gatsby’s wins with an astonishing cover that even Cure fans approve of.

Petty problems with song choice and momentous battles aside, the remainder of Punk Goes 80’s is just as polarized. Moog is not enough to save Relient K’s cover of the Bangles’ “Manic Monday,” which feels like it belongs on a Disney movie soundtrack. In an uncharacteristic move, the artists offered up by Drive Thru Records don’t embarrass themselves here. Instead, Halifax, Hidden in Plain View, and The Early November actually carry this album, acting as little bursts of retro joy in between big messes. Additionally, Brazil’s Police cover, Motion City Soundtrack’s moog heavy version of “Pop Song 89,” and So They Say’s ballsy choice of Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” even out the positive side of this compilation.

Despite mixed results in this installment, I hope that Fearless Records continues the Punk Goes… series. I’m just dying for Punk Goes Ace of Base.

(Fearless Records)

Marjorie Fair – Self Help Serenade

The summer sun is certainly making a hearty go of it these days, burning a hole in the country’s wearily parched midsection (I was always a cloudy day man to begin with, but it has gotten to the point now where the sight of cloudless skies actually depresses me). The bludgeoning rays have wreaked havoc on more than just the brown lawns and the now-dormant flowering bulbs, but also the psyches of those who have had to adjust in light of Mother Nature’s distinct lack of precipital assistance. Those on the periphery have also had their share of meteorological misgivings, with hurricanes in the Gulf region, soaring mercuries in the southwest and upper Plains, and the occasional rampaging Tigers relief pitcher in the general Detroit Metro area. As for the genteel fellows in Los Angelinos Marjorie Fair, however, the heart of the matter lies not in the extremes represented by the reds and whites of the weatherman’s Chroma key, but in a perpetually pleasant, comfortable state of affairs where the pace is deliberate, the spirit melancholy and the sun partner to a picturesque backdrop rather than an oppressive seasonal guest. 

In all fairness, artists like the Beatles and Neil Young have become a superfluous reference point for all guitar-based pop bands that have come since them, and Marjorie Fair is no exception. Some bands may sound more like the Beatles, and some may sound less like them, but somehow it always inevitably comes back to the Fab Four, whether you hear it right away or not. In the case of Marjorie Fair, the end result falls on the “more” side. The guitars jangle, the harmonies are silky smooth, and lead Marjorie Evan Slamka writes tunes that uncannily evoke the lovey, languorous vibe of late-1960’s pop. Toss that into a blender with the album’s amazing A-list pedigree (producer Rob Schnapf, whose resume includes Beck, Foo Fighters and Jimmy Eat World, though his work with Richard Thompson and Elliott Smith would seem most pertinent here; Jon Brion and Joey Waronker also play a big part, while Jim Keltner, Billy Preston, Luis Conte, Roger Manning and mixer extraordinaire Tom Lord-Alge each pop in for a track), and the sky would seem to be the limit for this bunch. 

On occasion, everything does coagulate, and those moments are readily apparent when put up against the rest of the album, but it isn’t all strawberry fields here.

Lead single “Empty Room” is a dynamite piece of music, a gorgeous midtempo number with an appropriately bleak chorus (“I don’t want to go, but if I die young / Fill my empty room with the sun…”). It’s the closest thing to early vintage Coldplay since Snow Patrol put out “Run.” The chorus will likely linger in your head for long periods of time. “Waves” is the record’s lone uptempo track, “uptempo” used in a relative sense, as the rest of the album is decidedly uniform in its elegiac tendencies. Slamka is blessed with a very soothing voice, which serves the gentle nature of the material well, though in the event of the occasional sweeping chorus (as in “Empty Room”) he proves quite capable.

While Self Help Serenade may not sound like a risky proposition on first listen (it may even sound almost excessively trepidant and introverted), what may be its defining upside for some may be its primary shortcoming for others. The band’s emphasis on texture and atmospherics comes at the price of pacing and momentum, as the unhurried, sleepy tempos begin to pile up without much variation. “Empty Room” and “Waves” are the only songs that break with the rest of the record, though the odd waltz or two does appear in “Cracks in the Wall” and “Silver Gun,” even if they don’t dare to step out of line. For a pop record, it’s a challenging listen, though that is something that would hypothetically play into their favor in the long run.

Self Help Serenade is best consumed as a whole, which may prove to be more or less of a challenge, depending on whether you possess the time and/or the patience to consume what turns out to be less an album of notable moments than one of a distinct timbre and tone. In an era where album success is driven by a series of catchy radio singles, this may be more difficult than usual for a band like Marjorie Fair. Most of the notable contributors are used only sparingly, which leaves the young band to take care of business mostly on their own. They do have their moments in the sun, showing heaps of promise, but more often than not the end result winds up exposing the group’s rough edges, which is unavoidable, even more so in the case of a skilled collective such as this.

Capitol is without a doubt trying to piggyback Marjorie Fair onto the success of like-minded labelmates Coldplay, but there is little that even a major label can do to combat the obligatory effects of inexperience. An auspicious opening salvo like “Empty Room” may duly send them on their way, but as with the rest of the album itself, time can only serve as an aide.

(Capitol Records)

Röyksopp – The Understanding

Damn, how is Röyksopp is so ebulliently happy. Even the somewhat moody opening “Triumphant” still sounds in some way bubbly. I must say that this is in no way a criticism of the band, but it is uncanny that one band could sound so zealous. Not only that, but an electronic band from Norway; “The land of the ice and snow,” if I remember my Led Zeppelin geography correctly. But good lord don’t I sound like a sheltered American. Perhaps I should lay aside country-of-origin for the time being and turn to the band, and more specifically The Understanding. But first, the inevitable background recap.

Melody A.M. was quite well received by both the popular circles and hipster enclaves. In other words, people who enjoyed it included both people who like Air and those who like Dirty Vegas. It was not a ground-breaking album, it didn’t shed new light on the world of electronica, but it was never-the-less very good. In this day and age, it is quite hard for me to find an upbeat electronica album that is very good, so that is saying an enormous amount for the band on my part. I can be quite picky, especially in the realm of electronic music. The Understanding is different in a way that I can’t precisely put my finger on. It, like the band’s debut, flits between genres too frequently to be properly classified, but seems to handle them all with ease.

They handle a bevy of styles with equal aplomb, the trance-build of “Triumphant,” the vocal pop of “Only This Moment,” and the minimalistic house of “Sombre Detune” are all wonderful songs in their own right. And by this point the album still isn’t even half over. It is almost a musical ADD that, fortunately for the band, is a benefit to them rather than a hindrance. The vocal approach is quite heavy on this album, though. Much more than their previous album. According to Svein Berge, it was a conscious decision. I have to admire a band that chooses to expand their sound rather than sticking with a safe and successful formula. Since the singing is done by guest vocalists, there is variation from track to track, which fits well with the album’s flow, since the vocals of Karin Dreijer, which mesh well with the melancholy tones of “A Beautiful Day Without You,” wouldn’t work quite as well with the smooth pop of “49 Percent.”

Really, The Understanding should be everything one expected from Röyksopp: a consistently good pastiche of electronic music, with notable development as of the band as artists – in this case, branching out as would-be singer/songwriters. But, despite having put together an album of accomplished and beautiful electronic pop, with Röyksopp it is hard to heap praise on the band or their music. The main problem being that the music doesn’t inspire that sort of writing. It isn’t exciting, it isn’t shocking, and it’s just … pleasant. It is Burt Bacharach in electronic form. And I mean that as the most sincere compliment, honestly.

(Astralwerks)

Son Volt – Okemah and the Melody of Riot

When country-rock pioneers Uncle Tupelo split for good following their Anodyne tour in 1994, it was less speculated than completely understood that Jay Farrar’s new ensemble Son Volt would find both quicker and greater success than that of Jeff Tweedy’s Wilco. As fate has a funny way of doing sometimes, though, Tweedy made massive and sometimes disturbing strides as a songwriter and performer, with Wilco reaching the summit of the indie rock world on the release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot in 2002. Son Volt, meanwhile, muddled their way through three well received if underperforming albums between 1995 and 1998, with a single modest hit to their name (“Drown” from 1995’s Trace). The band never officially broke up, but did go “on hiatus” while Farrar commenced his inevitable solo career. 

Okemah and the Melody of Riot very serendipitously follows the May release of a Son Volt retrospective album, acting to a certain degree as a well-defined point of demarcation for the band’s second incarnation. Farrar is the only member remaining from the original Son Volt, giving him near-unilateral creative freedom if he somehow didn’t have it already. Whereas much of his solo work found him ambling around within a loose, vaguely rootsy indie framework, Okemah is the sound of a man who has purged those musical indulgences from his system, full of vim and loaded for bear. It might get caught up in lyrical frivolities that have been rendered obsolete since the last time Son Volt recorded an album, but it succeeds more often than it fails.

The “Okemah” in the album’s title refers to Okemah, Oklahoma, the birthplace of one Woody Guthrie, whom Farrar wastes little time in name-dropping in the album’s opening cut, “Bandages & Scars.” While the album’s direct, rock and roll approach bears little immediate resemblance  to Guthrie’s sparse, Dust Bowl-era recordings, Farrar’s tendency towards broad, sometimes cutting social observations does aspire to Guthrie’s levels even if it never actually reaches them.

Farrar spends a fair amount of time grinding his rusty ax against that great immovable object known as the United States government, but after seven years on the sidelines and two contentious elections by the boards, you’d expect that he might have a missive or two tucked away in the coffers. It might have been a more noble artistic motion had not Farrar drawn such a high number at the Protest Song deli counter. Simply put, it ain’t as fresh a topic as it used to be. For each pertinent lyric like “Piecemeal solutions will only leave scars / Bandages for nosebleeds,” there’s a simple, unveiled screed like “His daddy has a job in Washington / Wants to raise a Harvard son / Junior liked to let his hair down / Only trouble is, word gets around…” Fortunately, it becomes easy to revel in the power chords on “Jet Pilot” even as Farrar invokes silly lines like “everyone needs a hunting pal” and the well-worn “the revolution will be televised.”

It’s a shame that Farrar gets carried away by his inner rabblerouser as much as he does, because the band and the music on Okemah are top-notch all the way through. Guitarist Brad Rice provides some stalwart, timely leads, while bassist Andrew Duplantis and drummer Dave Bryson anchor the rock-solid rhythm section. Farrar’s world-weary drawl is also in full form, making it easy to see why many saw Son Volt as Uncle Tupelo’s heir apparent in the first place. There are very few moments where Okemah is anything less than an engaging listen, whether you take to the spirit of Farrar’s words or not. The formula hasn’t changed much since he spurned the original lineup, but it’s a damn fine rock and roll record all the same.

(Legacy Recordings)

Thrice – If We Could Only See Us Now

Thrice’s creative, all-inclusive and comprehensive DVD study chronicles the history of the band in complete detail. Not much is left out. From the release of their indie hit, Identity Crisis, to the band’s baby steps on the touring trail, to the sunshine days that found the band gaining critical acclaim, every little inch is covered here. Above-average editing really makes portions of the release extremely easy to watch. The nicely edited 110-minute program includes a 26 chapter movie of the band’s history and times together, tons and tons of live performance footage from various years and rare video clips. The live performances are quite a treat as you can witness the progression and development from the band’s early shows to where they are today. The DVD also includes all three videos that the band has put together and released; two videos from The Artist In the Ambulance and one from The Illusion of Safety.

The movie aspect of the DVD is highly detailed with loads of informative and attention-grabbing footage. All three full-length albums are chronicled through the recording process involved as you get an inside look at how each album was started and then finally completed. The creative studio side of Thrice gives you a new perspective on a band that is more known for their energetic live shows. You also get to witness each little aspect of touring through the eyes of Thrice from the days of long van rides from city to city to the allure of sold out arena shows. It is really neat to see the level of performance improve over the years. As if the DVD wasn’t enough to fill you up, the band throws in a CD with 9 songs featuring rarities, B-sides and unreleased material. The acoustic version of “Stare At the Sun” is one of stand out tracks and the cover of The Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby” definitely gives new meaning to a band adding their own personal touch to something. That’s right, Thrice covering The Beatles.

At times, bands will release historical DVDs and the end results are sloppy- footage filled with inside jokes, stupid antics and little else. This is not the case for Thrice; like everything else they do, this is precise and to-the-point. Thrice definitely came into this DVD with a plan and they’ve put everything together as efficiently as possible. No other material is needed to get a precise history lesson on Thrice.

(Island Records)

Sufjan Stevens – Illinois

This is a review of the new Sufjan Stevens album Illinois! You can stop right now if you want. If you’re reading this webzine, or any webzine, or if you listen to NPR or your  local college station, you can rightfully assume that Stevens can do no wrong, and on his latest disc, your assumption will be entirely on the mark. Stevens is the singer songwriter equivalent of Superman, who gets both a song devoted to him, and his visage prominently featured in the cover art [editor’s note: which has since been removed due to legal issues]. The singer can throw out extraordinary turns of phrases as effortlessly as the man of steel can throw a bus 20 city blocks. Yet despite their supernatural talents both men are, at their core, relatively modest guys. Although both have their weakness, kryptonite for Superman, lack of restraint for Stevens, they are petty, easily ignorable flaws that never hamper the style with which both are able to perform heroics.

“COME ON FEEL THE ILLINOISE! [Capitalization mandatory] Part 1: The world’s Columbian Exposition, Part 2: Carl Sandburg visits me in a dream.” Not even the longest title on the album, and already we’re using multiple sentences. A track this spectacular warrants it and the metamorphosis this track undergoes at its halfway point is nearly impossible to put into words. To do it little justice, it starts out a jazz number about architecture and ends several minutes later a folk song replete with delicate string arrangement where Stevens admits “I cried myself to sleep last night,” asking himself “are you writing from the heart?” The next track is the answer to that question, and it is a resounding yes. “John Wayne Gacy, JR.” a stoic piano based number chronicles the Illinois-born serial killer, and contains a couplet destined to bring silence to any conversation. The line “Twenty seven people / even more / they were boys / with their cars / summer jobs / oh my god,” is sung in a voice teetering on a whisper, as if it were Gacy trying to calm one of his victims. The song ends with the album’s most haunting moment, its closing line where Stevens divulges, “in my best behavior, I am really just like him.” The lyrics of Illinois are what happen when the beautiful poetry of John K. Samson or Isaac Brock are stripped of their tangled metaphors and shoved into the mouth of a plainspoken man.

And the music! Although there are certainly other songwriters who have jumped from genre to genre as much as Stevens does, there are none who have done it with such energy and love. When Elliott Smith tried it, he sounded half-hearted, like he really wanted to strip back down to a solitary guitar. When Rufus Wainwright tries it as he did on the colossal failure Want Two, it sounds tacky. Perhaps it is because Stevens plays 75 percent of the instruments on the album, but the backup singers, trumpet, banjo, accordion, organ, and host of other instruments all blend together into a cacophony of percussion and melody. There is not one second when the musicianship on this album is anything less than inspired. The disco of “They are Night Zombies…” sounds just as convincing as the chug-rock of “Chicago,” which is just as enthralling as the banjo-led “Decatour.”

But you’ve heard this all before, and you’ve probably heard it with more eloquence and wit than what I have put forth. So what do I have to add to the chorus of praise? A slight voice of dissent. What, after all of this, is the flaw that I mentioned earlier, which stops this from being a great album, despite being a great collection of songs? It is too much- far too much. The closest comparison point (and the last truly extraordinary singer-songwriter album) I can think of for Illinois is Badly Drawn Boy’s epic debut The Hour of Bewilderbeast. That album, clocking in at well over an hour with 18 tracks, worked so well because it had an arc, one that goes deeper than the natural quiet-loud-quiet track progression. That album had an arc that strung through each song’s lyrics, as well as through the numerous instrumental tracks. On Illinois, each of the 22 tracks sound like they were simply thrown at random onto the album, and the constant instrumental interludes (which range from 20 second noise experiments to jazz piano solos) break down any momentum that begins to build. I have yet to listen to this album in its entirety, and I don’t know if it would benefit the music to attempt the task. Taken in small doses as a hastily assembled mix tape of extraordinary songs, the album is easily enjoyable and very rewarding (I’d suggest taking breaks after track 9, then again after track 15).

In a music scene where singer / songwriters seem to associate a smile with a failure and emotional openness with some sort of wound, it is simply revitalizing to have an adventurous, brilliant artist like Sufjan Stevens making records. Yes, Illinois is a very bloated record, and I already have made a copy of the disc without the instrumentals, but that does not mean its many adventurous, life affirming tracks are any less brilliant.  

(Asthmatic Kitty)

Dredg – Catch Without Arms

In life, it takes more than once for the receiver to understand a message. Students read and re-read pages of philosophy texts to understand the meaning of Plato or Aristotle. The same can go for music. For me, coincidence happens more often than I brush my teeth. I believe in deja vous. I throw salt over my shoulder and clear my way from black cats. For Dredg’s new album, Catch Without Arms, I found myself in a very sticky situation. To my surprise, this album came to me twice in my life. It is understandable to hear an album more than once when one owns the album already, but when the album arrives twice in the mail then there must be some kind of sign; some unmentionable Dredg ghost that followed me around telling me to listen more closely to Catch Without Arms.

Slowly, the faint sound strings aired out my stale room with a chaotic mixture of quick-hand drumming and guitar chord repeats. My head bobbed and my feet weaved, leaving me in a blind mess of hair and hardwood floors. I danced idiotically around the house; I didn’t pay much attention to the particulars. I moved to the sound of the quick pace, one after the other, wavering from head banging rock to slow ballad- with lyrics that poetically measured out the mysteries of a broken heart. The thoughts of fate and destiny danced in my head again. In the first song “Ode to Son,” I understood why the song was an ode; “It’s gone from light to grey” – the possessive meaning the sun has gone from light to grey. The song is not about how lovely the sun is, but the ability to change the expression of a man, preferably lead singer Gavin Hayes, from sad to pleasant. The lyrics stand out, like the fine lines from their single “Bug Eyes;” “your journey back to birth is haunting you / haunting you / your departure from earth is haunting you…” suggesting the fear of life and death.

The album art is also a feat to admire. Images of different religious deities in a cartoon-like states; striking a nerve with the sacrilegious and somewhat demonic. It’s strange how the album art goes hand in hand with my destiny driven thought-process concerning the album. There are a few songs that mention religious beings ie: God, Buddha, Mary, but there is the feeling of mortality within each tune. It’s not the fundamental base of the songs, but there are some subtle details here and there that suggest some kind of fear of truth. An example of this could be in the song Planting Seeds, which on the outside suggests a return to life after a relationship, but the stanzas, can be understood to be about rebirth; “Look what I have found / a seashell in a sea of shells / I’m good at planting my own seeds / to sprout an endless hell,” powerfully describes how the mistakes in life come easily, but bring serious repercussions. 

As I listened to the last song“Matroshka,” I felt a definite end to a chapter. This song feels like one of those songs that play at the prom when the night is winding down and the feet of the soon-to-be graduates shuffle from side to side staring blankly into the eyes of their dates. It is the end of not only the album, but the end of an era. The song suggests the end of youth and childhood. And I have followed the journey of this album with questions of my own future- like these future scholars who have grown up to become what their destiny prophesized.

(Interscope Records)