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Peter Bjorn and John is an indie pop/rock trio who formed in Stockholm in 1999. The band has helpe
d further Sweden’s reputation for producing groups with impressive pop savvy (ABBA, Ace of Base, etc.).
Even if you’ve never heard of Peter Bjorn and John, chances are you’ve
heard its infectious whistle-along single “Young Folks,” which took the music world by storm in 2006 – heard in movies, advertisements and every restaurant and mall in the country.
In 2008, Peter Bjorn and John released the mostly instrumental “Seaside Rock.”
REVIEW:
On “Living Thing,” Peter Bjorn and John take a decidedly minimalist approach to their indie-pop, resulting in a listen that is at once compelling and frustrating.
Many songs exude a surprising depth of atmosphere – sometimes even darkness – and every track is succinctly structured and phrased, consisting of no more than vocals, a lone (usually processed) guitar or synth and a skeletal rhythm section.
But the album’s minimalism, though remarkably tasteful and restrained, creates moments that sound undercooked – or just uninteresting.
Nothing here quite matches the contagiously catchy hook of “Young Folks,” but there are definite pop gems scattered throughout that brim with hit potential.
“Nothing to Worry About” is a vague cousin of “Hollaback Girl.” Although the novelty wears off with the quickness of a sugar high, it contains a maddeningly catchy chorus courtesy of bassist Bjorn Yttling.
With dynamic, cascading guitar and bass set to a propulsive tribal beat, “Living Thing” is a bizarro-pop gem, and the slick underworld-dance groove of “It Don’t Move Me” works against its title in the best way.
Considering it’s one of the most radio-ready tunes on the album, “Lay It Down” is a garish curveball of sorts with its “shut-the-fuck-up-boy” refrain.
Other songs fail to coalesce into much of anything that’s truly memorable (i.e. the simplistic “I’m Losing My Mind” or repetitive opener “The Feeling”).
But PB&J is best when it spaces out its minimal style. Take the pivotal “Just the Past,” with its expansive, galloping momentum that segues into a harrowing industrial breakdown that nods at Nine Inch Nails territory and a curiously melancholy “la-la” refrain.
Another highlight is the clear-eyed, soul-tinged “Stay This Way,” whose vocals bear uncanny resemblance to My Morning Jacket.
VERDICT:
“Living Thing” is uneven but enjoyable, challenging the listener with its unobtrusive arrangements. But upon closer examination, surprising depth and emotion stir beneath the surface.
– John Barrett
Even though a clumsy experiment may not be as instantly appealing as a predictable retread, you can’t knock a band too hard for exploring new paths.
Portland’s The Decemberists, having released four albums of quirky indie-pop, does exactly that on the ambitious “The Hazards of Love,” flirting with prog, classic rock and even heavy metal.
But the group’s sudden metallic edge is blunted by the album’s underlying narrative: a slightly affected tale of a damsel in distress named Margaret, her noble lover William, and a pair of unconvincing villains.
Without a doubt, the album is front-loaded, starting off with a bang.
“The Hazards of Love 1″ centers around alluring acoustic drone and complex chord and tempo structures rooted squarely in the progressive style. It also establishes the album’s overriding musical theme, and there are three sister parts to the song further along in the record.
The ensuing “A Bower Scene” employs an identical musical motif, unexpectedly ripped apart by distorted quasi-metal guitars – the first eyebrow-raising moment of the album.
Similarly, on “The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid” and “The Queen’s Rebuke/The Crossing,” Meloy tries his hand at a roaring blues-rocker, and to a surprising degree of success.
For a moment, it’s hard to believe you’re listening to The Decemberists, the same band whose first album was an almost entirely acoustic affair.
I guess the premise of the album’s tale is historical and literary, but it doesn’t exactly scream “fun” and doesn’t lend itself well to an album trying so hard to rock.
The idea behind “Isn’t It a Lovely Night?” has potential, featuring woozy accordion and lap steel over gentle acoustic picking, but the vocals are too cutes-y to make this one a winner.
Some albums taper off at the end, but “The Hazards of Love” falls off a cliff. The final songs blur together into little more than a tired, murky rehash of the previous tracks.
The noticeable drop in energy probably stems from the fact that the oft-repeated themes and motifs, while fresh and exciting for The Decemberists, simply aren’t strong enough to sustain such a long, conceptual album.
VERDICT:
It’s refreshing to hear The Decemberists exploring new avenues of sound. But overall, it’s too long-winded and dour to warrant much repeated listening.
- John Barrett
Up until this point Deerhunter guitarist Lockett Pundt’s solo moniker, Lotus Plaza, has been an online-only affair. After releasing a handful of songs on his blog, fans started taking notice of Pundt’s talent and it became increasingly clear that his role in Deerhunter was crucial to the band’s sonic reconstruction on its breakthrough 2007 album, “Cryptograms.” “The Floodlight Collective” is Pundt’s solo debut out on experimental label Kranky.
REVIEW:
Deerhunter frontman Bradford Cox’s solo project. “Atlas Sound”. was released in 2008 – an album featuring a weighty instrumentation of oppressive electronics and vulnerable melodies awash in oscillating waves of reverb drenched guitar and insular suburban teenage treacle. Considering that album was dedicated to Pundt, it makes sense that on his Lotus Plaza debut Pundt doesn’t stray too far from this template. But don’t mistake this for a lack of originality – more like a perfected vision of his already singular work with Deerhunter.
With that being said, this album isn’t just a record to tide Deerhunter fans over until its next disc. “The Floodlight Collective” is an undeniably transcendent record. It’s the ideal album to transform a sunny day into a hazy, surreal daydream, able to make the ordinary world around you a little less ordinary.
The aforementioned blog cuts are all featured on the disc, but they have all been reworked and tweaked a bit. And you can credit album producer Brian Foote for these changes in format on record. Having produced both Cox’s and Pundt’s albums, it seems Foote’s career as a top notch producer is taking off.
One such song he reworked for “The Floodlight Collective” is the hypnotic drone of “Whiteout.”
With Pundt’s vocals, shrouded in a haze of reverb, hardly any lyrics on the album are discernible – it’s just not that kind of record. Instead, Pundt uses his vocal detriment to his advantage, eschewing pitch perfect harmonies in favor of layered texture such as on the soaring chorus of “What Grows?” or the driving rocker “A Threaded Needle.”
But if there is a complaint, these vocals all start to meld into one another bogging down the songs into an abstract territory of which even the most patient of listeners will grow weary.
VERDICT:
If you think this album is just “the album from that dude in Deerhunter” you’d be missing out on the first record of what is shaping up to be a promising solo career. A career that’s just as impressive and affecting as his other band. Looks like Kranky’s faith in Pundt wasn’t misplaced. This can only mean good things for both bands in the future.
- Wynn Sammons
Progressive metal band Mastodon was formed in Atlanta in 1999 by lead vocalist Eric Saner, bassist Troy Sanders, guitarists Brent Hinds and Bill Kelliher and drummer Brann Dailor, drawing inspiration from sludge bands (the Melvins, Neurosis) and ’70s classic rock (Thin Lizzy, Black Sabbath).
Saner departed from the group in 2000 after recording just one demo, after which point Sanders and Hinds shared vocal duties. One year later, Mastodon signed to Relapse Records and released their first proper EP, “Lifesblood,” which was followed with a debut full-length, “Remission,” in 2002.
It wasn’t until 2004’s “Leviathan,” that Mastodon achieved national recognition. A blistering concept album loosely based on Herman Melville’s “Moby Dick,” “Leviathan” established the band as a key figure in the American New Wave of Heavy Metal.
Following the album’s success, Mastodon landed a contract with Warner Bros. Records and issued its follow-up, the equally ambitious “Blood Mountain,” whose song “Colony of Birchmen” received a Grammy nomination for Best Metal Performance.
Each full-length album Mastodon has released in its career has not only possessed a grandiose conceptual reach, but also correlated with a specific element: “Remission” symbolized fire, “Leviathan” water, and “Blood Mountain” earth.
Judging from the title, fourth album “Crack the Skye” presumably continues the pattern as the embodiment of the wind element, although members of the band have mentioned themes of out-of-body experiences, wormholes, and Tsarist Russia.
REVIEW:
Compared to its predecessors, this album finds Mastodon considerably spacing out its sound, blending melodic vocals, ethereal guitars and textural keyboards with its trademark dark metal riffs and manic drum fills.
This aural shift might be linked to the new addition of producer Brendan O’Brien (of Pearl Jam and Stone Temple Pilots fame). But regardless of reason, Mastodon’s metal now carries with it a shimmering, fluid feel.
Some of the mellower sections amid the dense, unpredictable musical terrain invite comparisons to newer-era Opeth or even Porcupine Tree. But the change of pace is surprisingly inviting, mainly because “Crack the Skye” is still a metal album.
Mastodon lets up on its bombast – singer/bassist Troy Sanders and singer/guitarist Brent Hinds sing as much as they scream now – yet the group manages to retain every ounce of its trademark heaviness, internalizing it rather than discharging it full-force.
Most of the songs (”Quintessence,” “Oblivion”) sound very much like a band in transition, oscillating between spacey and visceral segments.
The title track is the record’s emotional apex: an homage to drummer Brann Dailor’s deceased sister, Skye, it wrings tragic beauty from harrowing metal components.
It seems an unwritten rule that no prog record can be complete without a seven-plus minute epic, and “Crack the Skye” has two of them: “The Czar” and the even longer “The Last Baron.”
What proves Mastodon a rightful progressive metal titan for the modern age is that these two ambitious marathons are the album’s strongest points, piloting the listener through a blitzkrieg of divergent musical changes and movements.
VERDICT:
The emphasis on atmosphere and melody may be polarizing for longtime fans, but “Crack the Skye” cements Mastodon’s position as art-metal warhorses.
- John Barrett
As a fixture in the burgeoning Atlanta music scene, the Black Lips has made a name for itself with the self-described brand of “hippie punk” rock. While still teenagers in Atlanta the band was formed in 2000. From the first days when the member’s were barely able to keep instruments in tune to the band’s recent unexpected worldwide fame, “200 Million Thousand” marks the band’s fifth studio effort.
REVIEW:
By all accounts, “200 Million Thousand” is supposed to be the Black Lips’ breakout record. Having toured the world several times over, built up a reputation as one of the wildest live shows around (trying to set a fire inside the 40 Watt Club, for example) and releasing a string of critically praised garage rock classics – the band has paid its dues, and at this point no one would blame it for selling out and succumbing to audience expectations.
Except if you’re a band notorious for urinating on stage during concerts, it not only seems apt to avoid these expectations, but to piss on them as well. And “200 Million Thousand” is just that, a middle finger to anyone who expected anything other than what the record should be: Endlessly catchy, uncompromisingly noisy and punk as hell.
Mastered from a lacquer 33 r.p.m. record, “200 Million Thousand”’s sound has the warmth of an old time-y vinyl recording with the requisite hiss and pop in the backdrop of each song. But while the production is vintage, the songwriting blurs the distinction between retro and contemporary. Take the track “Drugs” for example, which at first sounds like a jangly, sock hop ode to teenage love, but that’s before bassist Jared Swilley belts out “We’ll hammer down in my Plymouth Barracuda, huffin’ and a puffin’ on that B.C. Buddha” Â- it’s classic Black Lips: hummable, sleazy and affectionately subversive all at once.
“The Drop I Hold” is the band’s first foray into rap. The track’s stark, cinematic back-beat meshes surprisingly well with guitarist Cole Alexander’s booze scorched vocals, sounding eerily like a white boy version of the late Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s guttural flow.
Indeed, the album’s biggest strength is its stylistic diversity. From the gospel infused garage stomp of “Elijah” to the psychedelic soul of “Trapped In A Basement,” it’s evident the band took its time with this one, and in the process matured as songwriters.
VERDICT:
It’s not all that often a band manages to make a record that maintains the balance between artistic ambition and consistency while still retaining integrity as a group. With “200 Million Thousand” the Black Lips have accomplished that goal – a feat only special bands can pull off.
- Wynn Sammons
Using Trail of Dead’s previous release as a lens – the sprawling, scattershot mess “So Divided” – “The Century of Self” is an unquestionable triumph for the art-rock sextet.
The noisy, almost breathless quality of Trail of Dead’s music that made it famous is back in place here, resulting in the band’s most dynamic set of tunes since 2002’s “Source Tags & Codes.”
But “The Century of Self” never reaches the high-water mark set by that masterpiece, as the bloated, proggy excess of their more recent work still rears its head in the dense 13-track landscape.
The end result is a record full of surprises but admittedly hit-or-miss.
“Isis Unveiled” employs swift guitar heroics and a vibe akin to Radiohead’s “Electioneering” that burst out of the speakers. But a plodding mid-section hinders it from reaching epic proportions.
Fortunately, several cuts evade the overindulgence that has plagued much of Trail of Dead’s recent work and even sound refreshing: “The Far Pavilions,” “Fields of Coal” and “Halcyon Days” are all scorching, punk-fueled songs that operate at breakneck speed.
Trail of Dead’s reinstated musical energy is enough to propel the first portion of “The Century of Self,” but the more introspective latter half feels flat and ponderous.
VERDICT
It’s far from perfect and lags in spots. But all things considered, it’s a complex, enthralling listen and certainly a tremendous improvement for Trail of Dead.
- John Barrett
The release comes five years after their last album, “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb,” and 33 years after the band originally formed. Though it may come as a shock, U2 has reinvented itself yet again in “No Line.”
Don’t get too excited. U2 still sounds like U2; Bono still sounds like Bono. The group’s most recent overhaul is more of a side-step than a jump. But there are a few surprises that make this new album quite a bit different from the band’s previous work and keep things interesting – if not astonishing.
U2’s Web site says the members spent some time in Morocco writing and performing, gathering musical influences to incorporate into the 11 tracks on “No Line.”
From the album’s sound, it would seem Moroccan music experiments with multiple rhythms, changes of key and various instruments. Every song incorporates each of these departures from U2’s previous incarnations.
The track listing pattern on the album evolves from simpler rhythms to upbeat anthems to softer, more emotional hymn-style songs by tracks 10 and 11.
Bono said on the band’s Web site this pattern is intentional. The song order is meant to reflect a pilgrimage.
Sound changes pervade every song on the album. In “Unknown Caller,” Bono raps, which he does often on “No Line,” and then a Queen-style chorus pipes up.
Unlike some other tracks, “Stand Up Comedy” sounds completely unique. In the song, Bono raps (again) “come on you people! Stand up for your love!” The line is followed closely by an intense, Jimmy Page-inspired guitar riff overlaid with echoing vocals that halfheartedly imitate Led Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused.”
“Breathe,” the album’s 10th track, features an electric guitar competing with a strong keyboard – and winning. But relentless to the end, the keyboard keeps frantically popping up, sounding ridiculously out of place.
U2’s 12th album does depart from the group recent rocker style, but it is not shameful to the band’s legendary reputation, either. The sound is still distinctly U2. The group simply incorporated a little Moroccan style to mix things up. The album is definitely worth a listen, but not a buy.
- Nathan Powell
‘The Empyrean’ is a story that has no action in the physical world,” the renowned Red Hot Chili Peppers’ guitarist John Frusciante wrote on his personal Web site.
“The outside world is only known to us as it appears within us by the testament of our senses. The imagination is the most real world that we know because we each know it first hand.”
This bold statement of intent naturally signals an album of similarly ambitious caliber: “The Empyrean,” his first solo record since 2004, is his most conceptual yet.
Whereas the majority of Frusciante’s solo material was composed quickly (the guy recorded a full six albums in 2004 alone), “The Empyrean” has been in gestation ever since the RHCP did “Stadium Arcadium” in 2006.
The extra time Frusciante spent on the album clearly shows, luring the listener into a mellow, psychedelic journey that oscillates between concise rock songs and elaborately designed epics, which positively boil with emotion.
Of the longer material, “Dark/Light” and “Central” emerge as the album’s nuclei. The former features a Gothic choir propelled by a hyperactive bass line and MIDI drums, while the latter layers experimental guitars and keyboards over an otherwise straightforward progression.
Frusciante may not have the gritty, balls-y style or natural instinct for rhythm possessed by RHCP’s vocalist Anthony Kiedis, but his own voice is tenfold more powerful and emotionally charged.
In fact, many of the songs on “The Empyrean” center on his impassioned vocal performances – notably “God” and a brilliant rendition of Tim Buckley’s “Song to the Siren.”
Not to mention his singing has grown more experimental, evident in the otherworldly vocal manipulation on “Unreachable” and the abnormally low register heard on “One More of Me.”
The emphasis here is obviously Frusciante’s vocals, but he doesn’t let anybody forget the reason he became famous in the first place: his exceptional guitar prowess (”Enough of Me,” “God” and “Unreachable”).
The guitar melody in opener “Before the Beginning” unfolds and climaxes, like a feather caught in an updraft. But there’s also a chance that unless you’re stoned it may not be quite as enthralling.
VERDICT
With “The Empyrean,” Frusciante creates a compelling landscape that brims with passion, cementing for himself a unique identity removed from the realm of the RHCP.
- John Barrett
In early 2007 musician Michael Nau decided to ditch the jubilant rock and roll of his previous band to start work on a new project he called Cotton Jones. Since then, the band has released a slew of 7-inch records through indie labels displaying Nau’s new darker approach to somber, psychedelic folk. “Paranoid Cocoon” marks Cotton Jones first full length out on Suicide Squeeze Records.
REVIEW
As the former frontman of Page France – singer/songwriter Michael Nau’s music has always possessed a transcendent quality, allowing his songs to sound more like they came from the places he sings about rather than from the man himself.
With his new band’s debut release, Nau has refined this ability and, in doing so, created a bizarrely tactile psych-folk odyssey. Think of “Paranoid Cocoon” as the sonic embodiment of “Alice in Wonderland” meets Fleet Foxes – at once lush and otherworldly, while still steeped in gritty images of pastoral beauty.
This dichotomy is perfectly displayed in the interplay between co-vocalists Nau and Whitney McGraw. Nau’s stark baritone and McGraw’s sultry twang meshes unexpectedly well – recalling the legendary duets between Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra.
But while there’s a debt to ’60s psychedelia and folk, “Paranoid Cocoon” also manages to possess an aesthetic all its own.
“Some Strange Rain” is propelled by layers of organ drone buoyed by steel guitar and vibraphone, pulsating beneath the steady strum of acoustic guitar and subtle brush drumming. It’s the closest melding of hippy and hillbilly in recent memory, as well as the album’s standout cut.
“Gone the Bells” has the duo swapping verses in a seamless mélange of sugary-sweet melodies, reverb drenched guitar lines and dreamy lyrics that evoke images of sunny day reveries and surreal, Southern fried synesthesia. While the album’s sleepy melancholia and psychedelic instrumentation are present in each track, the arrangements often present themselves in a host of genres.
VERDICT
With 2008 proving that folk music is still viable and open to reinterpretation, Cotton Jones’ debut is an impressive display of a young band’s homage to its heroes, as well as a wholly original folk-pop record worthy of being mentioned with the Fleet Foxes of the world.
- Wynn Sammons
Releasing six records in the past two years, publishing an art book, and having over 1,000 songs credited to him by the BMI throughout his career, calling Robert Pollard a prolific artist is a serious understatement – the dude’s more like a force of nature.
And while Pollard’s slapdash approach has always been his singular charm as a songwriter, it also can make listening to his records a bit of an inconsistent affair, and in the case of “The Crawling Distance” an outright chore.
That’s not to say that “The Crawling Distance” doesn’t have its fair share of great moments, but it’s disappointing that those moments are overshadowed for the most part by boring arrangements (”Faking My Harlequin”) and plodding song craft (”Red Cross Vegas Night”).
But Pollard is too good a songwriter to not have a few great songs in the mix. Album standout, “It’s Easy” finds him in ballad mode strumming minor chords to a shimmering backdrop as he laments in a lilting croon, “flunked and passed on LSD/ the figures of conspiracy are crawling up to you.”
It’s one of the rare intimate moments on “The Crawling Distance” that showcases just what a unique lyricist and inventive arranger Pollard can be.
Sadly, the good will of “It’s Easy” quickly wears off in what turns out to be an uninteresting album in the end. With just a few tweaks here and there songs such as the crunching, hard rock of ” By Silence Be Destroyed” and odd ball freak-out of “Too Much Fun (Is Too Much Fun)” could’ve easily been among some of Pollard’s finest tunes of the past decade.
VERDICT
You’d be hard pressed to find any 51-year-old as consistently good as Pollard, but “The Crawling Distance” is far from consistent or good for that matter.
Perhaps Pollard sums up his new record best as he sings on album closer “Too Much Fun,” – “Already wasted through three-fourths of July/No new excuses/and no need to even try.”
It looks that way Bob, there’s always next time though.
- Wynn Sammons
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