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(08/23/07 4:00am)
North Carolina has long been a hotbed for musical innovation, and milestones from R.E.M. choosing to record its early works - including the landmark single "Radio Free Europe" - with Mitch Easter of Chapel Hill's Let's Active to James Brown defining his sound with the recording of "Papa's Got A Brand New Bag" in 1965 at Arthur Smith's studio in Charlotte.
But just as impressive as the artists who have stopped through or gotten their starts in the Tar Heel State, is the diversity of styles and eras that have defined N.C. by staying in the area that fostered them.
(07/19/07 4:00am)
MOVIEREVIEW
Captivity
2 stars
"Captivity" is half of a good schlock flick.
The first half of the movie, starring Elisha Cuthbert (Kim Bauer on "24") as Jennifer, the obligatory damsel in distress, is a nihilistic, gruesome venture into the depths of depravity, in which the viewer feels as tortured as the woman on the screen.
The various ordeals forced upon Jennifer - and graphically portrayed on film - play out like the track list to a death metal album: "Acid Bath Nightmare," "Force Fed People," "Violent Voyeur," and so forth.
Watching the film is as much a hazing ritual as it is an eviscerating horror movie experience.
Its bleak, dark staging and tight shots offer an unsettling backdrop as the disturbing imagery marches on.
Once the initial revulsion is finished, the first half of "Captivity" reveals itself to be a relentless example of shock cinema that affects the mind as much as the gut.
But when the inevitable plot twist comes around, so does a sinking feeling of "Hey, I already saw `Saw II.'"
Then comes the disappointment.
Yes, the twist, as predictable as it is, makes sense of the situation in which Jennifer finds herself, resolves the questions the viewer might have, but also turns the film from an absolutely horrifying ordeal into a generic victim-fetish thriller in the vein of the "Saw" or "Hostel" franchises.
"Captivity's" uncompromising and downright uncomfortable imagery, scenario and complete lack of context makes it no surprise that it stirred up controversy for being needlessly violent.
But it's not the violence itself that renders the actual gore gratuitous, it's the lame attempt to tag on a story, when the film could have raised more questions be refusing to resolve anything.
When the fact that nothing made sense was what made the movie's first half so unsettling, the resolution at the end comes at the expense of the chance "Captivity" had of actually eliciting real, nightmare-type horror in its viewers - one whose deliberately unrelenting sadism could have prodded into its viewers' skulls to incite fear, but also a hundred questions about the capacity for evil in humans, instead of just pissing off feminists.
Instead "Captivity" fumbles its opportunity to take the actual shock of its exploitation predecessors and ends up just leaving a legacy of mediocrity and a bad taste in its audience's collective mouth.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(07/19/07 4:00am)
MUSIC REVIEW
Pig Destroyer
Phantom Limb
3.5 stars
Grindcore tends to be an exclusive, unapproachable genre.
Even its very name scares off plenty of listeners, and those brave enough to experiment usually find themselves repelled by the constant blast beats, insane tempos and growled vocals that sound as if they were ripped directly out of the singer's throat.
And Pig Destroyer does pretty much all of that on its latest album, Phantom Limb, the follow-up to 2004's acclaimed Terrifyer.
The album's 14 songs are all brutal artillery blasts of pure and absolute death metal fury without all those wanky melodic guitar solos. The band's own description of its style as "deathgrind" seems perfectly suited.
In fact, Phantom Limb is such a grinding, rhythmic album, it almost feels more like an aural beatdown than a collection of songs.
So basically, the band got exactly what it was going for.
But what makes Pig Destroyer and its album better than any run-of-the-mill death or grind record is that the songs actually do carry a sense of implied tunefulness and real emotional weight.
Pig Destroyer's riffs are as pummeling as they are impossible not to headbang to.
The sludge-drenched guitars are battered to hellacious levels of texture, warping and distorting the tone with false harmonics and squalls.
The low end keeps everything running at Armageddon pace with hairpin twists and turns in rhythm and time.
But most remarkable are the lyrics hidden under J.R. Hayes' barely comprehensible screams and growls.
"Girl In The Slayer Jacket" is an emotionally devastating tale of teen suicide that is both bleak and horrifying while still being emotionally sincere and excrutiating.
Yes, the band revels in the genre's typical use of gory b-movie imagery, most noted in "Deathtripper" and "The Machete Twins," but those nuggets of heartfelt honesty, and even a twisted sweetness as on "Fourth Degree Burns," where Hayes spews, "She'll step on that plane and disappear, but tonight her lips are real and kissing like a head on collision."
Seeing a glimpse of humanity in an often cartoonish genre makes Pig Destroyer the type of grindcore band that won't disappoint fans of extreme metal, but might also have something special in store for that adventurous listener who might otherwise be turned off.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(07/12/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
Justice
+
4 stars
There's an intangible quality to good dance music.
It's not a readily-quantifiable measure; it's not counted in b.p.m. or decibels.
I'm talkin' 'bout the funk.
Michael Jackson had it. Prince had it. James Brown had it. Lord knows George Clinton's got it.
And the French electronica duo known as Justice has it, too.
With +, the duo's debut full-length, Justice has crafted a dance record so immediate that it virtually negates the need for discussion.
All that matters is that + will get the party started, and it will likely last a whole heck of a lot longer.
Let's face it, this album is huge.
It has no qualms about being huge with all its not-so-vaguely Biblical song titles ("Genesis," "Waters of Nazareth," "Let There Be Light"), distorted basslines, and winking references to all that is funky from the Jackson 5 to Three 6 Mafia.
And best of all, it's huge without being overly drawn out.
Where plenty of typical house tracks build slowly, steadily and, admittedly, gorgeously over the course of a seeming eternity, the longest cut on +, "Stress," is a mere five minutes. That's single length!
And it might be the album's greatest strength.
As simultaneously intricate and bombastic as the record is, its songs show the essential-to-listenability virtue of economy.
So, where a slow-burning 20-minute dance track might be good at an all-night dance party, (or when illicit substances are involved) it doesn't make good for inclusion in day-to-day listening, in the car, at the gym or in the middle of the tracklist on a mixtape.
But Justice does.
In fact, Justice fits in just about anywhere.
It's as much rock, pop, disco, hip-hop and funk as it is electronica.
While it's true that most of the album is instrumental, it never falls into the category of aimlessly meandering instrumental wankery that alienates listeners, instead offering the feeling of an irresistible pop single, minus the vapid singer.
When Justice does employ vocals, it comes in the form of a veritable block-party of sampled and processed voices, as on the heavily disco-rooted "D.A.N.C.E." and the new-wavey hip-hop of "The Party."
Yeah, this is basically the kind of record that leaves you rambling at all your friends, extolling the album's many virtues.
Not because it's perfect, but because it doesn't have to be.
There's no point in trying to determine if this is a perfect album because it is too much fun to listen to with any intent that isn't built around having fun.
Basically, + is a great dance album. Period.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(07/12/07 4:00am)
LOCALMUSICREVIEW
Don de Leaumont
Said The Firefly To The Hurricane
2.5 stars
Folk music, like just about every other "traditional" style has been so done, re-done and overdone that trying to make it within the confines of the genre is about as easy as growing up to be 10 feet tall.
So declaring oneself a "folk" singer, free of any hyphens or "indie" modifiers, as Durham's Don de Leaumont does is a brave and bold move.
But maybe "making it" isn't the point.
Maybe, it's OK to appreciate a particular style just because no matter how many times you've heard it, the sound of an acoustic guitar meshing with harmonica never gets old.
And therein lies the rub.
The sound of de Leaumont's latest record, Said The Firefly To The Hurricane, is absolutely pleasant.
Every note feels familiar and comforting; each lyric heartfelt, but again, familiar.
It's a nearly archetypical example of exactly what comes to mind when the term "folk music" is spoken, from the slightest hint of gravel in the voice to the piano or string embellishments.
Imagining de Leaumont perched on a wooden stool, slouched over his six-string as casual listeners nod their heads over gently steaming cups of coffee is less than a stretch.
But that begs the question: Is being merely familiar and comforting enough? Do we really need or want another archetypical folk singer?
And the answer is both yes and no.
Yes, because, quite frankly sharing a cup of coffee with this album would be quite a pleasant experience, and sometimes a pleasant experience is all we need.
But at the same time, de Leaumont would find a hard time reaching a wide audience, no matter how sincere his songwriting might be, no matter how passively enjoyable his music might be.
The genre is saturated. And that's no fault of his.
As refreshing as it can be to hear a songwriter honing his craft with no pretentiousness, just an earnest desire to write a song that is accessible and personal. To that end, Said The Firefly To The Hurricane, succeeds.
There is however, the glaring fact that this isn't really anything new.
It's adequate, good even, but it's just folk music.
At the end of the day, it's up to the listener to decide if being just folk music is enough.
And to decide just how much is left to be desired.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(06/28/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
White Stripes
Icky Thump
4 stars
With Icky Thump, Jack White has finally crafted the classic rock album he always wanted.
On their latest full-length venture, The White Stripes went back to the roots of rock 'n' roll, started from scratch, and rebuilt the sound from the ground up.
Most surprisingly, it wound up sounding as, well, classic, as it does fresh.
Mostly, it sounds big.
It's all crashes of rudimentary drums, psychedelic distortion and squealing blues guitar melding with Jack's distinctive-as-always vocals.
"Little Cream Soda" trudges along with a thick, sludgy, feedback-laden guitars and off-beat vocals.
But at the same time, "You Don't Know What Love Is (You Just Do What You're Told)" is as straightforward as the Stripes have ever been.
It could be tossed into any '70s rock playlist alongside Ted Nugent or Lynyrd Skynyrd and nobody would blink.
So once again, the star of the show is Jack White's encyclopedic rock knowledge.
He culls influences as disparate as Dinosaur Jr-style indie rock and British blues-rock (combining notably on "300 M.P.H. Torrential Outpour Blues"), and makes them collide into one solidly remarkable style that sounds both vintage and brand new at the same time.
Then there are the out-of-left-field moments that take shape in the bagpipe-esque guitar tones in bridge of the title track, the Old Western mariachi trumpets dueling in the dusty one-horse street on "Conquest," or the backward- looped sounds behind spoken word on "St. Andrew (This Battle is in the Air)."
Yet all these moments remarkably join in with the rest of the album somehow seamlessly and push the record one step further in its journey to becoming a new Zoso.
It's self-indulgent at moments, but never to the point that the audience - or the album's continuity - is lost.
With Icky Thump, The White Stripes have finally become the band they'd hinted at for so long.
The White Stripes have stepped out of the garage, condensed all their explorations into straight blues and old-time music back into a crunchy, exhilarating rock-out and recreated - if not reinvented - the bombast of dinosaur rock.
And they've done it without losing any of their idiosyncrasies.
But most of all, they've sounded more like The White Stripes with Icky Thump than with anything preceding it.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu
(06/28/07 4:00am)
LOCALMUSICREVIEW
The Future Kings of Nowhere
The Future Kings of Nowhere
3.5 stars
There's a reason bands like The Ataris and The Promise Ring, for all the disrespect that has been handed them, were so loved in the mid-to-late-'90s.
They were honest.
Some would say it takes a big man to admit that breaking up hurts a whole heck of a lot, but luckily, some of those not-too-proud bands were willing to give our adolescent selves a few nuggets of honest, heartfelt wisdom to help through those rocky first tries.
But now we're older, and breaking up still hurts a whole heck of a lot, relationships are still awkward and confusing, and Jimmy Eat World just won't cut it anymore.
So now we have The Future Kings of Nowhere, a Durham collective led by the unabashed and clever songwriting of singer/guitarist Shayne O'Neill, who can pull a fresh metaphor seemingly out of thin air.
With their eponymous debut, The Future Kings give us a venture into the style the band has dubbed "acousticore," claiming it to be music for people who are "angrier than Peter, Paul or Mary, but nicer than Henry Rollins."
O'Neill's exclusively acoustic guitar is flanked by drums, bass, horns and vocals taken from a buffet of local all-stars (members of Midtown Dickens, Southern Culture on the KSids, Eberhardt and The High & Mighties appear on the album, and Sweater Weather's Casey Trela assisted with the engineering).
But what pushes The Future Kings of Nowhere beyond mere Punk Goes Acoustic comparison is O'Neill's clever, witty and wise songwriting.
Yes, for the most part the lyrics focus on personal relationships and falling in and out of love, but O'Neill approaches this topic with a level of experience that no teeny-bopping emo kid could hope to achieve.
From the divorc
(06/21/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
The Ghost Is Dancing
The Darkest Spark
3.5 stars
Call it the Canadian Invasion.
Ever since Arcade Fire made everyone with ears pay attention (love 'em or hate 'em, if you're reading this, you've probably heard 'em), an influx of similarly minded Canadians have seeped into the indie-rock consciousness with their charming attitudes, lush orchestrations and collective ideals.
Enter The Ghost is Dancing, a Toronto-based nine-piece with a slightly more ethereal vibe than many of its contemporaries.
But that's not to say it's not just as liable to burst into multi-voiced rollicking orch-rock that situates them nicely amongst the easy-comparisons (Broken Social Scene, Arcade Fire, etc.).
So, as with any album that finds itself at home in readily accepted genre boundaries, the true test here is the songs.
And the band's debut LP, The Darkest Spark, passes.
Granted, the definition of what makes a "good" song is a subjective one, so let's settle with the notion that finding surprising moments in whatever form they present themselves within the context of a song makes that song a "good" song.
So, when the bottom drops out of "Shuttles and Planes" at 2:49 leaving only a tinkling piano and soft female vocalists cooing da-da-da immediately after a swelling crescendo of guitars and drums, it comes as a surprise, and a pleasant one at that.
Thus, a "good" song.
Synthesizers socializing with a trumpet-led fanfare on "Organ" provide another example.
Melding skittering dance beats with the now-standard sounds of non-traditional rock instrumentation (strings, horns, accordion, etc.) and the large compositional scope of chamber pop makes for songs, such as "Wall of Snow" which, along with the majority of the songs on this record, sound different and energetic enough to grow into their own.
So, maybe the band pushes its genre a little bit, annexing yet another bit of disparate styles to make songs that feel even more upbeat and energetic: not just joyful, but at times, downright ecstatic.
You still won't find a new movement in rock with The Darkest Spark, but you just might find something better. You might find the type of record that just feels good.
The Ghost is Dancing has collected a handful of "good" songs to make a debut full-length, so by default, it's a "good" record. But the band also captured the jubilance of making music as an end unto itself.
And that's something better than "good."
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(06/21/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
Datarock
Datarock Datarock
3 stars
To deliver an album with a face value redundant enough to legitimately be referred to as Datarock's Datarock Datarock, one mustn't take himself too seriously.
At its best, the Norwegian crew, whose album claims that redundantly eponymous title, is miles away from serious and only inches from sleaze-pop perfection.
On "Computer Camp Love," Datarock slides through a disco-funk hop all stuffed with call-and-response goofiness that sounds like a male Peaches trading nudity for nerdity.
"Sex Me Up," the album's party-mix standout is a one-night tryst of sweaty electro-funk and dance-punk.
Its high energy beat and androgynously lusty lyrics bump, grind and shake amidst a squiggly guitar riff and shimmery keys that propel the song into its throwback - as in throw back your head/beverage of choice - sing-along chorus.
It doesn't raise any questions, it just slides up next to you, tells you exactly what it wants and gets what it asks for.
It's not the kind of song to bring home to mom, but it gets the blood pumping - if you know what I mean.
The only complaint is that too few of Datarock Datarock's 13 tracks reach the same level of mindless dance-pop fun of "Computer Camp Love" or the slyly sleazy romp 'n' roll of "Sex Me Up."
"I Used To Dance With My Daddy" gets the party started - after the lagging rock song, "Bulldozer" that reluctantly opens the album.
And "Fa-Fa-Fa" is as funky as Norway's ever been, but it still doesn't quite measure up.
But in the world of disposable pop music, Datarock is as much a treat as anything else. Really, it's almost a vice in how secretly, if not quietly, enjoyable it is - even if it leaves you feeling a little grimy afterwards.
There's not a whole lot of originality, just a bunch of blended styles: electro, funk, disco, pop, etc. And there's not a whole lot of insight to be found in the lyrics, at least not outside of the dance floor or bedroom settings.
But it doesn't matter.
All this album asks for is a sly grin and a sweaty dance party, and it gets exactly what it asks for - with almost no guilt lingering behind the morning after.
There's no commitment, no emotion. Just blazing hot synth-driven fun.
After the record's over, it's just over. Sure, there's always the memory, but mostly it's just empty cups.
Looking for a philosophy, substantive meaning, or even a future in the songs of Datarock Datarock, would not only be boring, but pointless.
Datarock doesn't take itself seriously and neither should you.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(06/14/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
The Avett Brothers
Emotionalism
3.5 stars
On Emotionalism, The Avett Brothers aren't as exciting as they used to be.
But it might be the most exciting thing they've ever done.
For a band that made its name as a boot-stompin', string-breakin' tornado of a live act to pare down its sound with an increased focus on melody and song craft might signal the beginning of the end.
But as the 2006 EP, The Gleam, exemplified, Scott and Seth Avett are talented songwriters whose knack for crafting sweet, honest songs was often overshadowed by the tendency toward chaotic passion in their music.
With Emotionalism, the N.C. trio has shed most of its ramshackle punk attitude in exchange for an equally passionate, but more polished focus on the strong melodies and harmonic arrangements that have always been present in The Avett Brothers' songs.
And that's not to say the energy is gone either.
"Paranoia in Bb Major" is as nervy as anything off of Four Thieves Gone, it's just the exception this time around.
But what makes Emotionalism stand its ground as an entirely solid record is the quality of its songwriting, which, at its worst, is up to par with the Brothers' past albums.
At its best, it's something entirely new and exciting.
It's different, yes, but it's also the trio's most cohesive venture yet.
The album opening "Die Die Die" is as close to pure pop as the band has ever ventured.
But the track carries its own weight with a simultaneously hopeful and morose exploration of mortality and coming to terms with that fact.
The album sees The Avett Brothers a little more weary, experienced and matured by the trials of life.
And Emotionalism benefits from the more prescient experience and the detailed honesty of the brothers' lyrics.
"I can't take it back/And I don't want to/Because all my mistakes/they brought me to you" becomes the optimistically fatalist chorus of "All My Mistakes," which epitomizes the delicate balance of love, regret, redemption and hope in Emotionalism.
Yes, songs from the band's earlier works will continue to be fan favorites, and deservedly so, but the whole of Emotionalism is more consistent and concise in its entirety than any other full-length the band has released.
And although there still hasn't been a perfect record from The Avett Brothers, isn't it compliment enough that it seems possible?
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(06/14/07 4:00am)
LOCALMUSICREVIEW
Bus
Moving People
3 stars
Chapel Hill's Bus plays feel-good music for feel-good people.
That is to say the band writes music that is high in energy and uplifting in its message, even at the cost of emotional depth.
For Bus, the glass is always at least half full.
And with Moving People, the band's first LP since changing its name (Until recently, the group played under the name Big Pretty and the Red Rockets), that positive energy is channeled into music that is best described as fun.
Sure, there are the political indictments and pseudo-religious urging for peace and unity, but overall the feel of Bus is more party than preachy.
The band is as likely to offer a self-referential and lighthearted story of sexual frustration ("The Ballad of Beaverman") as it is an anti-war song ("Chess").
But Bus' political songs are by by no means perfect. The album's opener, "Peace, Love, Respect" isn't much more than a Dave Matthews-meets-O.A.R. outtake with a prototypical Bob Marley fan's credo (the title says it all, really).
But when the band hits its stride as it does on "High Expectations" or "Winds of Change," blending ska, hip-hop, jam, funk, polka, rock and world music into one seamless musical style, any misgivings about the band's lyricism are nearly forgotten in the thrill of a unique stylistic blend.
The musicianship is everything it needs to be, highlighted by Joe Kwon's cello and Ingrid Stenzel's accordion.
The band's infectious optimism and the incorporation of so much musical variety lends itself to a feeling on inclusiveness in Moving People.
And with enough distinction in the sound to prove the band's potential, the album's flaws don't seem to matter as much.
When the primary goal is to provide feel-good music, the best route probably isn't soul-baring specificity in your song writing anyway.
To that end, Bus succeeds.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(05/31/07 4:00am)
LOCALMUSICREVIEW
Bowerbirds
Hymns for a Dark Horse
4 stars
It's not a radical action to stand up for the preservation of Earth, but rarely has that action sounded so natural as on "In Our Talons," the second track on Bowerbirds' debut LP, Hymns for a Dark Horse.
The song's driving rhythm and sing-songy refrain could easily dive over the edge into full-blown hippie-folk corniness, but what saves the song, and, in fact makes the whole album magnificent, is the ability of Bowerbirds to ease back enough to sound sincere and impassioned, but still sweet.
It's never self-righteous or confrontational. The songs slide into their meanings firmly but comfortingly. "In Our Talons" builds into the sing-along credo: "It takes a lot of nerve to destroy this wondrous earth/We're only human, this at least we've learned."
The Raleigh-based trio of Phil Moore, Beth Tacular and Mark Paulson has done something with its song craft that transcends the obvious comparisons to other contemporary folk artists (another Devendra Banhart name drop, anyone?).
Bowerbirds have learned the fine art of restraint, letting their songs sound as if they are perfectly balanced and masterfully complete.
Rumbling percussion and soaring strings tumble into each other as harmonic vocals coo with building intensity.
While it teeters on the edge of going into over-the-top freak folk territory, it never, ever does.
Hymns for a Dark Horse swings back, regains its footing and keeps on dancing as Moore sings his stories, all rooted in the bountiful images of nature ("Bur Oak," "Hooves," etc.).
The stark production (done by Paulson) brings the sound of Moore's voice to the fore, giving it a pedestal to stand on above the lower-mixed, but crystal-clear sounds of the relatively simple instrumentation (generally some drums and acoustic guitar with string flourishes) and found-sound textures (spray paint cans on "The Marbled Godwit," for example).
The sound, both in the choice of instrumentation and in Moore's voice, has enough quirk to be interesting and distinctive, yet doesn't alienate listeners.
The overall feeling of Hymns for a Dark Horse is one of sweetness.
But it's not until further listening that the absolute seriousness of Bowerbirds comes through.
That's what makes Hymns for a Dark Horse a record that is not only beautiful to listen to but beautiful to live with. It takes on its own character and becomes the type of music which remains more than just irrevocably pretty.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(05/31/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
Dinosaur Jr.
Beyond
3.5 stars
Reunion albums are so rarely good that it's almost not even worth thinking about them as anything but a last ditch effort to salvage some semblance of relevance for an aged, comatose rock band.
I'm lookin' at you, Stooges and New York Dolls.
But using the word "rarely" is important here because every now and then something like Beyond, the reunion album for alt-rock legends Dinosaur Jr., happens to come along.
It becomes even more of a reunion when it's taken into consideration that this is the first album with the original lineup of J. Mascis, Lou Barlow and Murph since 1988's Bug.
The mere fact that Barlow and Mascis are playing new songs together should be event enough.
Compound that with the unexpectedly high quality of the music and well, this is a rare gem.
Mascis' guitars are as crunchy and soaked in feedback as ever, and the rhythm section plods along perfectly.
But even so, it's not that Beyond is such a great step forward for Dinosaur Jr., it's just that it's pretty much as good as the band's late-'80s output.
We still listen to Dinosaur Jr. primarily to hear J. Mascis play guitar (and fittingly, he's in good form here).
And that's fair. Mascis is one of indie rock's finest axemen, if not its single finest.
His slurred, groggy vocals still give off the irresistible slacker vibe that made Dinosaur Jr. a college rock sensation in the early '90s.
And yes, this is probably the band's finest moment since Bug.
We can speculate that the passive-aggressive relationship between Barlow and Mascis is responsible but whatever it is, the original lineup is the best one.
Beyond definitely trumps the latter-day Dinosaur Jr.'s major-label output.
But just like last year's Lemonheads revival (on which Mascis contributed some guitar) Beyond is just the sound of an old band remembering how to be itself.
That's not to take anything away from how fun it is to listen to Beyond. It's just to say that the reunion album is a return to form, not a progression from the band's older classics.
But whatever, Mascis still shreds. Dinosaur Jr. still rocks. What more could we really ask?
Contact the A&E Editor
at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(05/24/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
Battles
Mirrored
4 stars
The songs on Mirrored aren't so much songs as they are adventures in warped, processed vocals and unpredictable changes in direction.
What the whole of Battles' first LP provides its listeners with is fractured post-hardcore welded to prog rock's proclivity for mathematics.
And its pulsating tribalism would probably be danceable for robots on speed, but for mere humans, it's just mind-bogglingly awesome in a what-the-hell-just-happened sort of way.
Only "Bad Trails" comes close to resembling a song in the traditional sense, mostly because it actually has lyrics.
And Tyondai Braxton's voice employed here is more than just one more instrument or sonic texture.
But as much as "Bad Trails" is the album's most straightforward track, it almost feels like a slow point in the album's caterwauling roller coaster of sound.
The next song, "Prismism," makes up for lost time, blowing into a stomping, rambunctious, almost-dance track with stratospheric synthesizers and spider-web intricate guitar work.
Battles has somehow managed to create an album that feels entirely engaging - even fun - despite its tremendous technical scope.
Still, each change brings a new surprise and each new texture its own memorable moments.
It's this aspect which makes listening to Mirrored so worthwhile.
But the album isn't an easy listen for sure.
Instead, it's the type of record that changes the way listeners think about what can and can't be considered rock 'n' roll.
It's a jumble of off-kilter percussiveness and turn-on-a-dime riffage with a healthy spoonful of digitally altered, wordless vocals adding to the ever-so-precise mire.
The very genre which spawned the band is a combination of calculated music-nerd technicality that tends to alienate casual listeners.
But not too far into Mirrored comes the slow, steady realization that it isn't the pop chorus, but instead, the high-pitched, distant vocal "oh-way-oh" semi-refrain on "Atlas," or "Leyendecker"'s stuttering, grooving intro and ethereal coos which are stuck in your head for days.
And with "Atlas" and "Leyendecker," the lingering notion that maybe there's more pop to this album than meets the ear makes its presence known.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(05/24/07 4:00am)
LOCALMUSICREVIEW
Birds of Avalon
Bazaar Bazaar
3.5 stars
The rock stylings of Raleigh's Birds of Avalon fit almost exactly like a well-worn jean jacket with its sleeves ripped off.
It's got that timeless rocker edge, flying hair and Flying V's, its raggedy edges fitting an aesthetic rather than a necessity.
With their debut album, Bazaar Bazaar, the band which formed from the ashes of The Cherry Valence utilizes everything poppy about old school metal and everything edgy from the greats of power pop to create a record that kicks butt with a smile on its face.
Birds of Avalon can craft a hook to rival Cheap Trick, as they do on "Set You Free."
And they can couple catchy song writing with plodding, rumbling metal as made clear in "Horse Called Dust."
But its success is not so much about what the band is capable of as what it actually accomplishes in this debut.
Bazaar Bazaar runs through its track list with very few missteps, making it an accomplished debut by virtue of not screwing up.
But the band's ability to put its talents in tandem with each other makes the album much more than just another good rock album.
Birds of Avalon depict themselves as reaching for growth and diversity in their sound, having already mastered their own brand of hooky hard rock in the album's early tracks.
The record gets into jammy psych-rock on "Think" with its slower tempo and textured guitars.
The song's vocal harmonies and a building intensity make "Think" stand out in its own right.
But Birds of Avalon excel in crafting party perfect pop-metal that doesn't require pouring sugar on anything.
And it's that very sound which proves to be the highlight of the band's debut.
While never really going awry, the album's more streamlined and heavy tracks become the most memorable, leaving the band's psychedelic musings behind.
Just like that sleeveless jean jacket, Birds of Avalon are just so much cooler with a raggedy edge.
Fortunately that edge is not forgotten as the album closes with "Lost Pages From the Robot Repair Manual," a pulsing, heavy culmination of everything the band has attempted and succeeded in doing in its debut.
This final song, like the band responsible for it, is a hypnotic, driving and catchy force to be reckoned with.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(05/17/07 4:00am)
LOCALMUSICREVIEW
North Elementary
Berandals
3.5 stars
The type of music that earns a spot on a list of personal favorites is the type that works its way slowly and steadily into the heart.
It might not be the most striking at first listen, but instead it's music which is - for whatever reason - the most lasting and comforting.
In short, it's the type of music that feels like an old friend, and Chapel Hill's own North Elementary makes that very type of music.
With the release of its third album,
Berandals, on the Durham-based Pox World Empire, this staple local band fronted by ex-Comas drummer John Harrison has created a fully digestible portion of slow-burning rock music.
All bound in fuzzy melodicism, the songs that complete Berandals create a blanket of soft, pretty pop songs with a rainy day quality, which lasts from beginning to end.
Hypnotic guitars on "Your Lights Are Turning" melt into Harrison's strained but sweet and crooning "Bring me down again," amidst a wash of fuzzy shoegaze which tries in vain to hide the bouncing power-pop heart of the song.
Only the sprawling "Concept of My Ghost (Japanese Honor)" - which clocks in at about 15 minutes before drifting off into white noise with the occasional, lulling blip - breaks the format.
Yet the song does this in a way that feels less like a self-indulgent epic and more like a lingering, bittersweet goodbye to what would otherwise be a lengthy EP.
While the album is only six tracks long, each song is of healthy length.
Still, Berandals might not offer up the next big thing to change the face of rock 'n' roll as we know it.
It might not even garner much attention, but that doesn't stop it from being a solid pop rock album from a solid band.
For those willing to become acquainted with the record's melodic nuances, Berandals offers that special intangible relevance, which so often explains why we listen to pop music in the first place.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(05/17/07 4:00am)
MUSICREVIEW
Arctic Monkeys
Favourite Worst Nightmare
3 stars
Britain's Arctic Monkeys were easily the most overrated band of 2006.
The sloppy bar rock sound of their album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not had critics and bloggers alike screaming "the next big thing" about this gang of lads from Sheffield, England.
Sure, front man Alex Turner can write a clever song, but Arctic Monkeys were, and still are, just another scrappy, young garage rock band.
But there isn't anything wrong with that.
The band's music has always been fun and energetic - nothing if not likeable - but it doesn't qualify as a revelation.
Last year's hullabaloo gave the band a lot to live up to, and for the most part, Favourite Worst Nightmare succeeds.
It's more musically adventurous than its predecessor as the band adds a bit more angularity to its sound, and there's a little more bounce in its steps.
There are hints of 2 Tone ska and a little power pop at times, notably on tracks such as "Teddy Picker," which also adds a touch of keyboard to the Monkeys' formula.
The band's guitar parts are more melodic overall, but the most striking difference between the two albums is "Favourite Worse Nightmare's" polish.
The ballad "Only Ones Who Know" has an uncomfortable and lingering whammy-bar sheen and a crooning vocal style, which sounds a bit forced coming from a band that has made its name playing messy garage punk.
Instead of sounding like an Arctic Monkeys song, it sounds unforgivably like Turner and co. trying on a Morrissey costume, shambling around for a bit and growing weary of their own joke.
You can't blame a listener for growing similarly weary toward the end of the record.
Overall, the Monkeys sound noticeably tighter on their sophomore LP, but professionalism isn't really the band's forte.
Where the debut was endearingly amateur, the follow-up is more professional, more dressed up, and sadly it comes with the loss of some of the band's original exuberance.
It's a safer, more restrained version of the band, riding out its original hype.
If the debut was reckless, its follower is totally square. Not that it doesn't have its own merits, it's just that the debut will forever be the so-much-cooler renegade in the family.
But Turner is still writing clever songs about growing up and going out in his inescapably English manner.
The American public will continue to fawn about his every British colloquialism, and we'll still dance around to the band's moderately infectious riffs.
The band is still bouncing about with plenty of vigor, and there's no doubting that the intentions were good, so there's no real wrong with Favourite Worst Nightmare.
Arctic Monkeys continue to deliver enjoyable rock music that deserves a listen or two.
Maybe even a smile.
But still not a hyperbole.
Contact the A&E Editor at artsdesk@unc.edu.
(04/26/07 4:00am)
Music Review
Alex Delivery
Star Destroyer
5 stars
Rock music has never really aspired to greatness.
When it does veer into the more cerebral realm of art, it often comes at the expense of listenability, trading concept for emotion and experimentation for personal relevance.
But when the worlds of rock and art have, in rare instances, intersected, the output has been instantly recognizable as something lasting, something different and authentic.
Such is the case with Star Destroyer, the stunning debut from Brooklyn's Alex Delivery.
Blending elements of noise, electronica, chamber pop and kraut rock, Alex Delivery has created an amalgamation of sounds that comes off as not so much art for art's sake, but art for rock's sake.
It's as if the explosive sound of insects in a brass jar on "Rainbows" was added not for conceptual one-upmanship, but because it actually sounds necessary to the arrangement and musical life of the song.
And when it explodes two and a half minutes in, the emotional release is physically palpable.
Yes, it's abrasive, but so is the emotion of the song, which is otherwise boxed into a melodic, restrained pop complex. Only the plague of locusts ever present in the background reflects the lyrics.
What results is a reflection of passive-aggressive tendencies in which the world's ugliness is covered up but still inescapably present.
As such, the scattered bits of vocals, mostly conveying scattered images of darkness and decay, are understated, often buried in the mix throughout the duration of Star Destroyer.
Devoid of standard, vocally oriented structures, the music of Alex Delivery is given free rein to rise and fall and to be at turns hideously abrasive and beautifully tranquil.
The militaristic percussion bombardment of "Scotty" stands in stark contrast to the hypnotic, industrialized atmospherics of "Sheath-Wet," but both songs flow together as seamlessly as the events in daily life: Both positive and negative feelings get their say.
In all truth, Delivery's Star Destroyer can feel as much like a triumphant celebration as it can an earth-crumbling devastation of harsh sound and subtly violent images.
But even the darkness of tracks such as "Rainbows," in all its passive-aggressive resignation, explodes with honesty in its climax, proving that beauty is, in fact, truth, and the release of passionate honesty creates the beauty of the album.
When Star Destroyer culminates in the ghostly lullaby of "Vesna," the spectral harmonies and clattering sounds feel more comforting than unsettling.
Even the rumbling noise of previous tracks returning in the background can be accepted, knowing that the light has fought its way through the darkness.
It's a come-down from the intensity of the preceding tracks, and it comes as a relief, leaving the album feeling just closed enough.
More would be too much. Less would be incomplete.
The whole of Star Destroyer is a physically and emotionally affecting journey that is as challenging as it is rewarding, as much mind as heart and as much a rock album as it is art.
Contact the Diversions Editor at dive@unc.edu.
(04/26/07 4:00am)
Music Review
The Blow
Poor Aim: Love Songs
3.5 stars
Originally released as a limited edition EP in 2004, The Blow's Poor Aim: Love Songs was, and is, outright great.
It plays as a jaded little concept album about misdirected affection, capturing the pain and cynicism of bad relationships, empty hookups and the awkwardness of confusing crushes.
Set against Jona Bechtolt's simple, rhythmic electronic arrangements, Khaela Maricich's gentle, untrained voice delivers clever, literate and honest lyrics to great effect.
So, as much as Poor Aim is a danceable party record, it's a contemplative, serious affair.
With this wide distribution re-release, the EP is pulled out into an full-length with the addition of hit-or-miss remixes.
Some of the retoolings seem to lose sight of the original song, in favor of becoming overly repetitious dance tracks. But others, such as Strategy's remix of "The Love That I Crave," manage to create thumping dance music and stay true to Maricich's lyrics.
And the weaker tracks tend to be packed in at the end, so it's not that great a loss, even if the EP already could stand on its own.
Contact the Diversions Editor at dive@unc.edu.
(04/26/07 4:00am)
Music Review
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Baby 81
3 stars
It's kind of hard to separate criticism from fandom sometimes.
But then along comes a record like Baby 81, the latest from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, to make the divide between "enjoyable" and "accomplished" ever so simple.
Baby 81 is highly enjoyable, but not very accomplished.
It bobbles between heavy, bluesy psych rock and straightforward bar-rock. It never really finds a niche, but never really gets boring either.
The band is good at what it does, but what it does isn't particularly exciting or original.
The end result is an enjoyably familiar sounding rock record with some good hooks and melodies, and that delicious mud-stomping heavy psych vibe.
But it's nothing life-changing.
Contact the Diversions Editor at dive@unc.edu.