We’ve closed up the shop for the holidays. While we’re away, why not fire up our FREE Record Store Locator app and visit one of your local indie record stores?
Perhaps there’s an interview, review, or feature you might have missed? Catch up and we’ll see you back here on Tuesday, 1/3.
“The first albums I heard were from my father’s collection, among them the red vinyl The Lighter Side Of Lenny Bruce and the Nonesuch Vachel Lindsay album. I was mesmerized by The World Of Harry Partch, but it was a Kingston Trio record that had the most enduring impact. On it was a version of “Worried Man Blues” and, to this day, I can’t get the song out of my head. I suspect that I’ve been trying to rewrite it for the last forty years. Ten to fifteen years ago I had a long conversation with Greil Marcus midway up a flight of stairs at a Dutch festival about the lineage of that song back to Babylonian times.”
“As a teenager, my favorite pop group was Herb Alpert and The Tijuana Brass. The first record I bought was the single “In The Year 2525” by Zager & Evans. Then I bought “Lay Lady Lay” by Dylan and then Uncle Meat happened. It was my first trip to a “real” record store, located in the local mall—the first in Cleveland and the biggest east of the Mississippi. My high school buddy had been an advocate of the Mothers and I went to buy Uncle Meat. Hot Rats was just out. I bought that, too. I considered briefly a John Sebastian record. Flipping through the bins was an intoxicating experience, looking at the sleeve art and reading the liner notes.
I got up the nerve to approach the guys at the cash register. They were elevated on a dais behind a monolithic counter. They were high priests. I was sweating bullets that they’d sneer at my purchases. That afternoon I listened to Hot Rats and was intrigued by the singer on “Willy The Pimp.” The next day I returned to buy everything I could find by him—Trout Mask Replica and Mirror Man. The latter is still my favorite Beefheart record. Trout Mask is a work of genius but not as likable.
In the rearview is 2016—and we won’t really miss it. We’re counting down the new releases you shouldn’t have missed; the platters that easily got us through it. Here’s the second installation of our favorites spun. Part one is here.
5. Noura Mint Seymali, Arbina (Glitterbeat) + Maarja Nuut, Una Meeles (Self-released) With Arbina, Mauritanian griot Seymali follows up her stunning 2014 Glitterbeat debut Tzenni with an equally impressive excursion into funky-psychedelic desert blues, her rising international profile benefiting from a multifaceted approach; the songs’ expansive toughness can easily satisfy adventurous rockers (particularly the guitar of her husband Jeiche Ould Chighaly) while the grooves (and there are many) should engage those desirous of body shaking.
It’s a combination that’s nicely doubled by Seymali’s blend of newness and tradition (she plays the ardine with a deft hand). Her vocals, heartfelt yet precisely delivered in accord with the music’s thrust, accrue emotional heft vaulting the barrier of language, though English lyrics are included; it’s just one gesture among many elevating Glitterbeat to the apex of contempo global sounds. Those currently digging Tinariwen and Tamikrest would do themselves a great solid by scooping up Seymali’s latest.
Estonian violinist and vocalist Maarja Nuut’s Una Meeles is also a sophomore effort, and one that seems to have flown largely under the radar of 2016. It’s a self-released item, so this situation isn’t terribly surprising, but as the contents, which offer a truly solo yet multidimensional experience via looping and layering (of both voice and violin), are such an intriguing pleasure that the neglect of the disc (its title translating to In the Hold of a Dream) is something of a bummer.
The inclusion here is not a favor, for it compares well to Seymali’s album as they essentially sound nothing alike; Nuut’s CD springs from the traditional foundation of Estonian folk tunes as her considerably more novel method achieves hypnotic results. Some of her ingredients might lead some to suspect a measure of indie-ish preciousness on hand, but that’s off-target, as Nuut leans toward the avant-garde. By no means is Una Meeles a difficult listen; to the contrary, as stated above it’s quite compelling.
So just the other day I was at my girlfriend’s place and I told her I’d been listening to Belle and Sebastian. And she said in amazement, “You? You?? But they’re so… emo!” To which I replied, my voice reaching that high and buzzard-like Geddy Lee pitch that I can only attain when genuinely flubbergumbled, “Emo my ass! I hate those emo fuckers! Those irony-deficient shitbags! They’re too busy setting their wretchedly sensitive and self-absorbed high school diary poems to music to realize life is a hilarious cosmic joke at their expense! Belle and Sebastian are twee, damn it, and have a sense of humor! Just listen to “This Is Just a Modern Rock Song”! I mean, gak!… Grrr!”
And after that I descended into uttering outraged gibberish while my poor girlfriend cowered at the far end of the sofa, fishing around for her son’s bb gun, which she occasionally uses to put a sudden stop to my insane ranting. There is nothing like a bb to the solar plexus to shut you up, and fast.
In hindsight, I got all heated up because while the music of Belle and Sebastian is precious beyond words, and unremittingly lovely to boot, front man and pop genius Stuart Murdoch undercuts all that divine loveliness with smart and very sexually ambiguous lyrics in which boys who love boys settle for girls (they’re not as much trouble!) and girls who love girls settle for boys (they’re not as much trouble!).
Why, the unbearably sublime “Stars of Track and Field” from 1996’s If you’re feeling sinister alone is a hilarious study of the polymorphous perverse sexual mores of our oh so very sophisticated young people, what with the girl in question playing track and field for only one reason: to wear “terry underwear/And feel the city air/Run past your body.” And Murdoch finishes his “requiem” for said star of track and field by singing, “But when she’s on her back/She had the knowledge/To get her into college.”
PHOTOS: RICHIE DOWNS | The recollection is still quite vivid—my pal Shawn sidling by my room with a copy of The Posies’ 1990 release Dear 23 in hand. He’s tapping the CD jewel case deliberately. “I know you…you’re going to love this record.” And, as it turned out, both were true. Plus, it didn’t hurt one iota that I was, in fact, 23 at the time.
Hooked since then through stylistic turns, rhythm sections, break-ups, solo projects, Big Star status, reformations, and happily new (vinyl) releases, The Posies’ brand new full Length LP Solid States is in stores as you’re reading this right now. Touring to support Solid States, Jon Auer, Ken Stringfellow, and new drummer Frankie Siragusa embarked on a set of band-booked, intimate house concerts.
The day after what was apparently one hell of a Washington, DC show, The Posies joined us at DC’s Som Records for a rummage through the racks—warm, chatty, and hilarious throughout.
So, onward—we’re record shopping with The Posies at Washington, DC’s Som Records.
VIA PRESS RELEASE | “An oral and photographic history of the Washington, DC, punk rock scene, including Minor Threat, Bad Brains, Fugazi, and more.”
“The Washington, DC punk music scene of the 1980s gave birth to influential bands like Bad Brains, Minor Threat, and Fugazi. Here that era is portrayed in its purest form: an oral history by the creators themselves, including nearly two hundred photographs capturing the power and spirit of this politically progressive corner of American underground music. This stunning and intimate collection features rare images from Jim Saah, Cynthia Connolly, Bert Queiroz, and many others who documented this vibrant community.
Compiled by Scott Crawford—whose critically acclaimed film Salad Days provided an unprecedented exploration into the 1980s DC punk scene—Spoke delves deeper into one of the most dynamic movements in US music history.”
Sprung from a common mispronunciation, “Blesh” is the second single from Jordan Burchel’s forthcoming sophomore album, Vowel Sounds.
Burchel became, in his words, “sort of fascinated” with the idea that people often say“blesh you” as opposed to “bless you” and the garbled phrase led way to a song in which he addresses a part of himself more concerned with appearance, “I’m almost certainly talking to a crappier version of myself who is more ruled by ego and is self-righteous.”
“Blesh”’s soliloquy is a cut from Vowel Sounds, set to be released to stream, download, and purchase—on vinyl—December 16. Featured last month on TVD’s Press Play, the Florida-based singer/ songwriter recorded for over a year in various storage units and spare bedrooms.
The album grapples with authenticity and individuality within the digital age and was written, composed, played, sung, and produced by Burchel, with help from Chris Hillman of Morningbell and Sam Moss, formerly of Hundred Waters.
In the rearview is 2016—and we won’t really miss it. We’re counting down the new releases you shouldn’t have missed; the platters that easily got us through it. Here’s the first installation of our favorites spun.
10. A Tribe Called Quest, We got it from Here…Thank You 4 Your service (Epic) + Kristin Hersh, Wyatt at the Coyote Palace (Omnibus) Writing about records can be a tug of war between the excitement of expectation and emotional detachment; one wishes to avoid foaming at the mouth like a raving fanboy and conversely, emanating the disinterest of a robot. The leadup to the release of We got it from Here was accompanied with hopes of a great album tamped down by the knowledge that most comebacks bring disappointment. Inside: hopes for an odds-defying success. Outside: the demeanor of a drone.
A Tribe Called Quest pulled it off with flying colors, and with a high number of guest spots, a tactic that’s always cause for nervousness. But instead of making up for a lack of substance, the contributions underscore Tribe’s sheer impact over the years, with none of the visitors impeding the smooth eclecticism of the record’s progress; the best are Andre 3000 and Kendrick Lamar. Plus, Tribe packs a ton of engaging sonics and sturdy word flow into a solid and digestible hour, so there’s no worries in terms of content. All this and standout “Lost Somebody” samples Can’s “Halleluhwah.” Jeepers.
Wyatt at the Coyote Palace isn’t a comeback album, but akin to We got it from Here it offers an artistic vision having emerged from the 1980s that perseveres in the present day; that both albums are completely disinterested in hopping on any nostalgia trains is a major component in their triumphs. Throwing Muses has been fitfully active over the years, but Wyatt is a deeply personal collection, recorded entirely by Hersh and accompanied with a book of her (very good) writing. The whole fully embraces its solo nature.
Likewise, it turns its 82-minute running time into a major trait. If Tribe’s return benefits from a relative measure of conciseness, Wyatt gains strength from what in lesser hands would be unwieldiness or sprawl, with the results reminiscent of catching up with an old friend who’s achieved and endured much in their absence. Said friend has a whole lot to share, and just happens to write, sing, and play guitar like a champ.
I’ve said it before, goddamn it, and I’ll say it again: The Felice Brothers are the best folk and country rock group to come our way since The Band. Strong words, I know; but I’ve seen them live on numerous occasions and listened to their LPs more times than I can count, and I’ve come to the conclusion there’s something in the drinking water of those Catskill Mountains both they and The Band called home that is pure glory.
And I’m happy to report that Life in the Dark is the Felice Brothers at the top of their game, veering from hillbilly tunes to murder ballads to the best nonsense tunes to come our way since Dylan and The Band recorded The Basement Tapes in that famous pink house in West Saugerties, New York. Life in the Dark will break your heart, it will send you reeling, and it will make you smile at the sheer absurdity of life, and an album, no album, can do you any better than that.
The Felice Brothers are Ian Felice on guitar and lead vocals, brother James Felice on accordion, keyboards, and vocals, Greg Farley on fiddle, and Josh Rawson on bass, and they recorded Life in the Dark in a garage on a farm in the lovely Hudson Valley. The results speak for themselves; you’ll come away, I kid you not, from listening to Life in the Dark, with its rich musical textures and Ian Felice’s distinctive voice and always surprisingly lovely lyrics, with a new appreciation for the joys and sadness, to say nothing of the imponderable mystery, of this life.
“Days, where’d you go so fast?” Gerry Beckley asks in “Bell Tree,” his bittersweet beauty-soaked song on America’s Hearts album. The band’s fifth studio recording, which also featured Beckley’s chart-toppers “Sister Golden Hair” and “Daisy Jane,” was produced by George Martin and released in 1975.
Beckley’s latest solo record Carousel is due in stores next month (September 9th) via indie label Blue Élan Records. Over the course of the album’s nine original tracks and three cover songs, Beckley offers up more seasoned articulations of his “Bell Tree” question. The irresistibly-catchy “Tokyo,” the Beatles-ish “Lifeline,” and the poetic “Once a Distant Heart,” all deal directly with our mortal inability to transcend the weight and power of time passed, passing, and soon-to-be-passed.
Other artists who have come to the same philosophical conclusions that Beckley has on Carousel might have been tempted toward anger, regret, fear, or perhaps worst of all, to wear Cynicism’s Crown of Superiority. Consider what its tracks titled “Minutes Count” and “Serious” may imply.
But Beckley seems to have taken the other road, the one on which happiness and personal power reside. His McCartney-esque gift for melody still reigns supreme on Carousel and his lyrics showcase a healthy dose of realism and inventiveness, at one point even daring to utilize the logistical word “Zihuatanejo,” a move worthy of Warren Zevon himself. Beckley’s thoughtful renditions of Spirit’s “Nature’s Way,” Gerry Rafferty’s “To Each and Everyone,” and Gerry and the Pacemakers’ “Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying,” jive well with the rest of Carousel’s thematic content and allow the listener to reconsider the familiar songs in a newly visioned light.
