American Songwriter » Indie

BEACH HOUSE > Teen Dream

Jay Steele — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 13:00:05 +0000

Teen Dream" src="http://www.americansongwriter.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/Beach-House-Teen-Dream1.jpg" alt="BEACH HOUSE > Teen Dream" width="200" height="200" />

BEACH HOUSE TEEN DREAM (SUB POP) Rating: 5 out of 5 stars There’s something about the build-up to a band’s third album. A make-or-break ho hum that is often unavoidable. Will they cleanse the nasty aftertaste from a sophomore slump? Will they hit a plateau after a promising progression? Will they continue to demonstrate genuine talent after two terrific releases, solidifying itself as more than another overnight blogosphere sensation? Will they drop a dud and fizzle into mediocrity? Wasn’t it J Mascis that said, “Anticipation/is making me wait/ keeping me waiting?” For Beach House, the third album finds the Baltimore, Maryland-based duo with a new home, Sub Pop, one of the biggest players in today’s independent music world. Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally released their eponymous debut and follow-up, Devotion, on local stalwart Carpark Records. Beach House was an enchanting work of bedroom pop. Icy instrumentation lured the listener in, allowing Legrand’s vocals to exercise a certain mystique. It showcased songs such as “Apple Orchard,” with the capacity to slowly envelop one’s every thought like a steady snow falling on a bed of dry leaves. Beach House quickly drew somewhat apt comparisons to Mazzy Star. However, one could tell that Legrand and Scally were fashioning their own coat. Devotion further evidenced Beach House’s construction of a singular style. Though the band seemed to be creeping away from the bedroom, their second release built on the magical simplicity of Beach House. The subtly beefed-up production provided a sturdier device, allowing Legrand and Scally to better showcase their increasing propensity for creating sublime slow jams. Whereas many a band has trouble with its follow-up record, Beach House took a step forward with Devotion and in the process drew praise from critics and peers alike. Which brings us to Teen Dream, ten songs of irresistible majesty recorded with producer Chris Coady (TV On the Radio, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Blonde Redhead) in a converted church in upstate New York. From the initial notes of “Zebra,” one notices an increased urgency in the band’s music. The elements that made their first two albums so alluring are still present: Legrand’s smoky vocals, lush organs, the synthetic drum pulse and Scally’s slithering guitar licks. But this is a much larger Beach House. Vocal layering, crashing cymbals and propulsive melodies meld on “Zebra” to create one of their most grandiose tracks to date. And it’s only the first cut on the album. “Silver Soul,” the next track, is no less beautiful. The steady burner churns crusty guitars, ambling beats and Legrand’s repeated chorus of “it is happening again,” slowly shaping a skyward-reaching tower of sound. The heavenly vibe carries over onto “Norway,” the album’s lead single. Legrand’s voice floats above a choir of delicate backing harmonies and a driving rhythm—the only tether that keeps the song from drifting beyond the cotton candy clouds. It sounds like a modern interpretation of what would have been a Spector girl-group standard. Four minutes of psychedelic, bubblegum ecstasy. Throughout this initial stretch, Legrand’s vocals are nothing short of otherworldly. The next three songs on Teen Dream make the case for her as one of the most arresting singers in modern music. “Walk in the Park,” presents a fresh take on the textbook Beach House song. Rich guitar tones and a clattering drum pulse swirl into the familiar, dense organ, creating a hypnotic foundation for the songstress’ haunting croon. “Used to Be” is a rollicking dreamboat; if ever there were a tune to listen to while coasting along in a Cadillac convertible, this is it. “Lover of Mine” takes a darker slant; Legrand reveals her sultry side on a mid-tempo pop number everyone will wish played at their senior prom. Do not forget that Beach House is a duo. Scally’s riffing during the second verse of “Lover” serves as a good reminder. As do his eerie harmonies on “Silver Soul” and the aforementioned “Lover.” Furthermore, his slinking six-string style adds sinew to “Better Times” and “10 Mile Stereo.” On the latter, Legrand’s words transcend a shimmering song structure. But perhaps Scally’s most compelling contribution is found in the gorgeous keyboards he plays on “Real Love.” Like Beach House as a whole, there is nothing overly ornate about his parts; just brilliant, simple flourishes crafted into unbelievable pop songs. “Take Care” might be the perfect ending for Teen Dream. The song shows a group completely in control. Every element is present: crystalline organ lines, subtle guitar licks, sturdy percussion and stunning vocals. With their third full-length effort, Beach House forces the listener to re-examine pop music status quo while taking another giant stride as a band. In doing so, Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally throw down the gauntlet for the rest of 2010

A.A. BONDY: On Track

Edd Hurt — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 12:44:10 +0000

A.A. Bondy takes it easy throughout his new full-length When the Devil’s Loose, but it’s a subtly tortured record whose religious preoccupations and melancholia seem ingrained. A former rock star who found the pressures and constraints of big-time, big-label life a drag on his muse, Bondy whistles in the dark on When the Devil’s Loose. He seems focused on larger issues of life and death, love and hate, but he doesn't think he's making religious art. On this record, “I don’t think there’s anything that has to do with that,” Bondy says. “Someone could say ‘Jesus’ and it could have nothing do with Jesus. But I don’t know why that is at this point.” On his first solo collection, 2007’s American Hearts, Bondy had quoted “I Just Want to See His Face,” one of the tracks on the Rolling Stones’ Exile on Main St. Bondy’s new music doesn’t have much to do with the Stones and seems like a dim memory of rock and roll. It’s skeletal and doleful—one of the slowest records in recent memory. Now 36, Bondy spent his formative years in New Roads, Louisiana, not far from Baton Rouge and the Mississippi River. At 13 he moved to Birmingham, Alabama. First coming to attention in a Birmingham band called Verbena, Bondy practiced hard in what he says was a fairly indistinct local scene. “I always felt separate from everything that was goin’ on there,” he says about Birmingham. “There wasn’t even like there was a group of bands at any given time that were touring heavily.” Touted as a Southern-fried alternative to Nirvana in the late ‘90s, Verbena released a couple of solid full-length albums; 1999’s Into the Pink, produced by Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl. They were a tight, aggressive band, with Bondy’s classically disaffected rock and roll vocals up front. These days, Bondy looks back on those heady days with some asperity. “Being in that band on a major label was not making music,” he says. “What we should’ve done was just take the money and hidden somewhere and made the records we wanted to make, knowing that they probably wouldn’t have gotten promoted. It’s normal for a young band to reach for the ring, be a big band. But that’s just f***n’ stupid.” Verbena made one more record, 2003’s La Musica Negra, and Bondy went off to reinvent himself. He assumed his birth name, Auguste Arthur, and cut American Hearts by himself in Palenville, New York. (He says he doesn’t live there any more, but isn’t more specific: “I don't know where I go next, really.”) It takes on various forms of bedrock American music—post-grunge mixed with the wayward guitars of Alex Chilton’s depressive masterpiece Like Flies on Sherbert [sic]. When the Devil’s Loose continues the sound, but Bondy says he’s more open and confident as a songwriter these days, and not afraid of going for the unguarded moment. “I started recording with other musicians and singing live in the room at the same time,” he says. About half the tracks on When the Devil’s Loose were recorded in this fashion, but the record feels sparsely populated even when there’s a full band charging along. Bondy believes his songwriting has changed over the years. “I don’t think it’s so much about craft as it is whatever it takes to get to arrange things until they feel right,” he says. “The less time I spend on things, the better I feel about them—I don’t like to torture things. I attempt to talk about it, but I can’t speak as to why one day you get a good song and one day you don’t.” The record is full of country, blues and gospel music. “To the Morning” works out its 6/8 gospel feel and finds it way in the dark. The songs are minimalist and sleepy, as if Bondy woke up out of an afternoon nap to perform them. He doesn’t seem to sing his songs so much as visit them, and doesn’t offer any easy explanations for what he's doing. As he says, “I don't know what I’m into.” You believe him. AGE: 36 HOMETOWN: NEW ROADS, LOUISIANA Favorite singer/songwriters: Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Michael Hurley, Charley Patton, Nina Simone. He also digs Australian band the Dirty Three and Godspeed You Black Emperor. “It’s weird—I tend to like things that don’t involve singing.”

THE DUKE & THE KING: On the Horizon

Jewly Hight — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 20:18:10 +0000

The Duke and the King, at the Basement in Nashville on August 11.

Simone Felice’s journey from his sibling-led group, The Felice Brothers, to his new band with Robert “Chicken” Burke, The Duke & The King, lends itself to various interpretations. Sonically, it marks a shift from country-rock leanings to mellowed, harmony-sweetened country-soul, though he considers both styles incidental: “The Felice Brothers don’t try to sound like that—they just sound like that. And for me, it’s the same.” Lyrically, Felice intensified The Felice Brothers’ literary sensibilities, weaving strong narrative threads through the ten songs on The Duke & The King’s debut, Nothing Gold Can Stay. But nothing gets at the heart of Felice’s move from one to the other like generational theory. He was The Felice Brothers’ sole Gen X-er (everybody else being of Generation Y), and had a full decade on the youngest band member. For a group built on close familial ties, spirited music and the scrappy, collective pursuit of an audience, that didn’t matter. Until it did. Not that Felice had put the generational difference into words before being asked to during the interview for this article: “I didn’t sit down and think of it that way. But when you articulate it that way, it does make a lot of sense… I’m at a little different place in my life and I’ve had a lot of time on earth to have the kind of tragedies and jubilance that it takes to maybe write some different kinds of songs.” (No doubt, one of the tragedies he’s alluding to is losing the baby he and his longtime partner were expecting last winter. He told fans of the experience—and his new musical venture—in an open letter.) A song Felice contributed to the latest Felice Brothers album, Yonder Is the Clock, foreshadowed the direction he’d pursue on Nothing Gold; “All When We Were Young” is a reflection on youthful freedom receding in the rearview. “When I wrote “All When We Were Young”—I never really thought about it this way, but you just sort of brought it out of me—it opened that door,” says Felice. “The Duke & The King record, it’s all just true stories about the way my heart felt when I was a little kid, when I first got turned on to music.” With Burke, a longtime friend who’s worked with George Clinton and a capella group Sweet Honey In the Rock, Felice captured a particular season of life, one still close enough to youth to call to mind its innocent—and not-so-innocent—pleasures in detail, but beyond the point of retrieving them. Between album opener “If You Ever Get Famous,” pivotal tracks “Still Remember Love” and “Union Street” and closer “One More American Song,” a group of friends go from cruising around with ripped jeans, big dreams and fervently shared musical tastes to adulthood’s isolation and narrowing possibilities. All that’s to say, Felice’s new project pursues different themes than his work with The Felice Brothers. But there’s important continuity, too. Yonder is a Mark Twain reference; so is The Duke & The King, the names of two swindlers in Huckleberry Finn. “Here they are rolling down the river, and they’re setting up these bootleg Shakespeare shows,” Felice summarizes. “And it reminded me of how The Felice Brothers used to be when we first started. We used to just drive up and down the Hudson River and play anywhere we could, in any bar, in any subway…. And then also what happens to the Duke and the King is that they get tarred and feathered, obviously, at the end. So, for me, when it came time for us to say, ‘Hey, what are we going to call ourselves,’ [I said], ‘Man, if we call ourselves the duke and the king, then it’ll remind us that we need to be honest and to never roll down that road to getting tarred and feathered.’” Hometown: Catskill Mountains, New York Age: 32 An early musical influence: My mom had the Joni Mitchell record Blue and she played it everyday.

DAVID BAZAN: Carry On

Dustin Allen — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 14:06:21 +0000

David Bazan, alone and forsaken.

If ever there was a spokesman for those suffering from the God-sick blues, David Bazan is it. As the frontman behind Pedro the Lion for nearly a decade, Bazan has created a virtual trademark on doubt-ridden lyrics, sketching characters constantly slipping to-and-fro on a moral slope, or candidly confessing his own ambivalence toward God and his own faith.

Now that Bazan has dropped that moniker following the band’s split in 2005—a schism that was shared rather openly on the Fewer Moving Parts EP a year later—and released Curse Your Branches, his first full-length under his given name, the ever-dubious songwriter is yet again at the crossroads. Maybe it was the two solid weeks of tending to his newborn son. Maybe it was his newfound sobriety and spearheading a fresh career path. But when American Songwriter caught up with Bazan in his Seattle home over the phone, the man was almost eerily at ease. “I am a lot healthier and more content than I was,” says Bazan. “For me, stepping away from Pedro the Lion was stepping away from a process, a mode of doing things. I was definitely a drunk and a string of my buddies had been hurt and frustrated, and I didn’t want to continue that way. I needed some distance.” After a short-lived stint with side project Headphones, teaming with the Undertow Orchestra—a live collaboration with fellow under-the-radar songsmiths Vic Chestnutt, Mark Eitzel and Will Johnson—and rebranding himself as a solo artist, it might be natural to suspect that Bazan was poised for a push toward greater exposure. But even a cursory listen to Curse Your Branches’ modest 10 tracks is proof enough that he’s hardly looking to reinvent himself or reclaim his piece of the indie underground. If anything, Bazan has become more comfortable in his own skin, writing music the only way he knows how—assuredly neg-head, yes, but brutally honest and aware of its own limitations. “I got to a certain point with this record where I thought, ‘You want to be a big deal and these songs that you’re writing kind of ensure that you’re not going to be,’” says Bazan. Opener “Hard to Be” recalls the Headphones’ Moog-heavy tones, but then gently reverts to Bazan’s uneven croon and sad insights about how it is “hard to be a decent human being.” From there, however, the album tilts slightly upward with “Bless This Mess,” easily one of the more lighthearted songs he's ever written, even going so far as to feature a few friends for a semi-gospel choir and wry church organ interlude. Following that is “Please, Baby, Please” that, for all its mopey lyrics, chugs along with a crisp acoustic strum, lithe percussion and soft vocal coos. To top it off, “When We Fell,” a track that was originally conceived as a laborious, slow-moving dirge flips right-side up by way of trad-rock riffs and a few scattered chimes mid-song. A string of low-key tour stops last year—organized by fans at limited-admittance locales with only minimal publicity—may also be responsible for Bazan recruiting about a dozen other musicians to pull off this slight but noticeable shift in tone. “I really dislike the singer/songwriter tag, and when I was just out playing with an acoustic, that’s what I was,” says Bazan. “Not to mention [these songs were] basically autobiographical confessionals about religion. I realized what I was doing and I was horrified.” Still, what’s kept most Bazan fans coming back over the years is his knack for cutting to the quick, the sheer nerve of his perpetual spiritual limbo and how potently he conveys that through song. Whatever personal progress he's made recently, Bazan said those parts of him won’t likely dissolve any time soon. “I gave up trying to do anything sunny years ago,” says Bazan. “For better or worse, it really is the state of my psyche at any given time and is the stuff I grapple with. Ultimately, I really love these songs and if the record doesn’t sell well because of it, I’m fine with that.” Age: 33 Hometown: Seattle Early music influences: Lennon-McCartney, Paul Simon, Leonard Cohen

DRUG RUG > Paint the Fence Invisible

Dustin Allen — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 14:30:15 +0000

Paint the Fence Invisible" src="http://www.americansongwriter.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/paint-the-fence-cover-282x300.jpg" alt="DRUG RUG > Paint the Fence Invisible" width="188" height="200" />
This album is hardly the tossed-off valentine their reputation might suggest. DRUG RUG Paint the Fence Invisible (BLACK & GREENE) Rating: 3 out of 5 stars Berated unfairly as little more than a cutesy duo harmonizing to death glassy-eyed pop songs about young love on their ‘07 debut, Drug Rug nevertheless seem undaunted on their follow-up Paint the Fence Invisible. Offering much of the same trad-rock touchstones with a psych twist as tour mates Dr. Dog, this Cambridge, Massachusetts, couple may be sweet and drenched in sunshine, but this album is hardly the tossed-off valentine their reputation might suggest.

THE FEATURES: On the Horizon

William Hooker — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 21:17:08 +0000

Songs are not always what they seem; never confidently infer meanings of a lyric from a band's bio. . . .

Songs are not always what they seem; never confidently infer meanings of a lyric from a band's bio. For instance, on the sensitively swinging boogie "Off Track," the 12th song on Nashville band The Features' Some Kind of Salvation, vocalist and primary songwriter Matt Pelham sings "we've been told/that we've been close/that all is won/but mostly lost." Salvation is the first release since their abrupt separation with Atlantic Records, and Pelham's words seem mindful of being off-label, but also hopeful, when he sings: "We gotta get back in line/We're off-track again." Explaining the song's significance, Pelham tells us, "It's definitely not about the record label at all... it's more of a relationship thing." Whether or not being with a label can resemble the wavy, peak-trough pattern commonly marked by a romantic relationship, Pelham admits, "I suppose...with any type of relationship, one with a label can be as trying as one with a girlfriend." Pelham validates my question politely and I understand clearly that Some Kind of Salvation is no poison dart aimed at label chiefs. Not that there's no danger in his songs, the menace is just not in one precise direction; "Foundation's Cracked," "G.M.F," and "Temporary Blues" rock diffusely, power pop that neither exploits nor hides their Southern, rural roots. Asked whether or not the band might venture into darker, more experimental directions in the future, Pelham informs me that "most of these songs are five- to six- years old and when making the record we just wanted the songs to fit together... ultimately it comes down to being cohesive."

Another six-year-old track, "Temporary Blues," recalls Pelham's soul-crushing experience as a Pillsbury factory worker; on it he sings, "An occupation... they say it should be something you like/But hard times don't allow a poor boy to choose how he provides." Asked whether or not ex-co-workers might be listening to the new record now, Pelham suspects not: "I highly doubt any of them have ever heard it; when I left I kind of never looked back... although I imagine the feelings on the song were mutual for lots of the workers."

Pelham's focus on how he provides stems from his family. Despite living near Nashville, seeing local shows is not a priority. "I've always kind of wanted to get out more and see a lot of local bands and support the scene but I'm always extremely busy with work [as a printmaker], our band, my wife and two kids. It's always a juggling act to go out and see bands or even a movie for that matter; it's not easy."

Despite the hard work evident on Salvation, it's often light-hearted and summer-appropriate due in part to Pelham's falsetto-prone voice. This style, evident on the sunny chorus of "Lions," Pelham "developed over the years from what I enjoyed listening to; when I was really young I liked John Lennon vocals so much... and he was imitating Little Richard so when I was younger I would overdo it, and do it all the time. Hopefully now I keep control of it."

Another song on Salvation, "Baby's Hammer" is a soft ditty that compares a destructive tool to "a significant other's displeasure... trying to please someone and never quite doing that; the hammer is her temper for not making it to church or not making enough money." Could this hammer possibly contain providence? "I definitely think it's good to have someone to keep you in line, it's not a bad thing."

Hometown: Nashville, Tennessee

Matthew Pelham Age 34 Favorite songwriter albums: John Prine, Sweet Revenge, Bob Dylan, Desire

Rollum Haas, Age 29 Enjoys Randy Newman's songs, particularly "Sail Away" & "Good Old Boys"

Mark Bond, Age 28 Favorite Songwriters: Elvis Costello and Brian Wilson

Roger Dabbs, Age 34 His Favorite Songwriting Duos: Rod Argent/Chris White of The Zombies and Dave Clark/Mike Smith of the Dave Clark 5

Sonic Youth @ The War Memorial – Nashville, TN – 7/11/09

Drew Litowitz — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 17:32:56 +0000

Thurston Moore cares, he’d just like you to think he doesn’t. At the wise age of 50, he retains the stage presence of a teenage slacker. Though he’s been crafting dissonant post-punk with Sonic Youth for nearly 30 years, the guy could seriously pass for a college student. As he effortlessly throws himself around the stage, frequently collapsing to the floor, guitar in hand, he perfectly balances enthusiasm and nonchalance. But if he wasn’t passionate about what he does, he wouldn’t attack his guitar so feverishly. He cares a lot more than he lets on, even as he dryly apologizes for the falsely started “Poison Arrow,” pointing to the amp head: “I’m so tall that I couldn’t read my tuner. I was tuning to a D, but I tuned to a D sharp,” and again stating the song’s title to start his second attempt “ . . . ‘Poison Arrow’.” Though he stands opposite stage from guitarist Lee Ranaldo, the two intertwine their coarse tones to make paradoxically melodic art like they are looking into each other’s eyes. When you are a member of Sonic Youth, you don’t just play your guitar, you use it as a means of getting from point A to point B, whether that entails scratching the strings with a metal rod, sliding a broken drum stick across the bridge, or turning knobs and pushing numerous pedals to get it done. Sonic Youth have a wide range of song styles. Watching them perform live is almost like witnessing multiple bands take the stage, only the five players never change. After a more than impressive showing from openers the Entrance Band—a California three-piece that displayed their own blend of tight, progressive sludge rock (think Dinosaur Jr. meets the Allman Bothers), the noisy flourish of Sonic Youth filled the War Memorial Auditorium. The sheer fury of songs like Sister’s “White Cross” juxtaposed with the mellow, acoustic wanderings of “Massage the History” created a perfect equilibrium of noise and open space. Playing 2009's The Eternal almost in its entirety, the show was certainly not a hit parade. But, should we expect that from a group so notoriously inaccessible? I think not. The songs on the Eternal, however, draw from the Youth’s entire discography, pulling splinters and shards from the massive array of noises once used, and combining them to craft new material. If you missed one of your favorites Saturday night, there was probably a hint of it found in one of the newer tracks. But that's not to say that they didn’t please die-hards with some back catalog gems, either. The beautiful “Shadow of a Doubt” had Kim Gordon whispering into the microphone over Moore’s pleasantly stinging harmonics, and “Silver Rocket” brought punk drums, thrashed chords, and Thurston’s snarl to the table. The set, however, did seem pretty heavy on Kim lead vocal spots. Ranaldo, Gordon, and Moore all shared the role throughout the 17 songs, but it seemed that the missus was holding the night’s golden mic. Most of the older tunes were Kim-lead ones, which contributed to a lack of some decades-old favorites such as “Teenage Riot,” “Tom Violence,” or “Catholic Block,” songs which have been played previously on the tour. But the spectacle of seeing any Sonic Youth song performed live never really disappoints. Watching a catchy tune cave in on itself into a sea of haze and distortion, unsure of exactly what it will become, is pretty spine tingling. Ranaldo, equipped with pedals and knobs galore, more than aptly lent his sonic visions to these dark explorations. If he wasn’t holding one of his custom boxes, he was banging unorthodoxly on his strings. Ranaldo even roped in some classic rock radio waves with his “Antennabox” to open Eternal’s gorgeous “Antenna” (Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” played at the song’s start before cutting out). Former Pavement bassist Mark Ibold chugged along as drummer Steve Shelley rotated between soft mallets and hard sticks, and Gordon switched between bass and guitar per usual. Though a show abundant in noises, I will say that it wasn’t as loud as one would expect from Sonic Youth. All the distortion and fuzz was there, but it didn’t leave any ears bleeding. I guess this could be considered a plus, but sometimes a little ringing in your ears is just what you’re looking for. Nevertheless, after almost thirty years of flooding tape with fuzz, the band stays pretty truthful to their name. Gordon, at 56, looks no older than 40, and the rest of the guys retain a youthful charm. As for the Sonic, well, you’d have to be deaf not to hear why that’s a good descriptor. Ending the second and final encore with the ancient thrash of “Death Valley ’69,” they graciously left the stage reminding us all that they’re not growing up any time soon. -Drew Litowitz Set List: 1. Sacred Trickster 2. No Way 3. Calming the Snake 4. Silver Rocket 5. Antenna 6. Leaky Lifeboat 7. Malibu Gas Station 8. The Sprawl 9. Anti-Orgasm 10. Walkin Blue 11. Poison Arrow 12. Massage the History 13. White Cross Encore: 14. Shadow Of A Doubt 15. Pacific Coast Highway Encore 2: 16. What We Know 17. Death Valley '69

JOHN VANDERSLICE: On Track

Matt Fink — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 21:04:41 +0000

Though it had a good run-from the whimsy of the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band to the harsh isolation of Pink Floyd's The Wall and the rock opera reprisal of Green Day's American Idiot-the concept album has largely faded out of usage, left as a punch line to be hung around moribund musicians who are too pretentious to realize that they've run out of ideas. But while few songwriters are eager to join the list of artists who have tried and failed to carry out a project with such weighty ambitions, the concept album lives on in the less grandiose visions of indie rock auteurs Colin Meloy (The Decemberists), John Darnielle (Mountain Goats) and John Vanderslice. The last of those, the restlessly imaginative and analog-equipment obsessed Vanderslice, has written no fewer than five conceptually-themed narrative albums, proving his mastery at sustained album-length drama by stranding his imaginary brother on an icebound observation station on 2002's Time Travel is Lonely and crafting post-911 vignettes on 2005's Pixel Revolt. But on Romanian Names, Vanderslice's latest and most inward-looking release, he has narrowed his focus considerably. "I set out wanting to write songs that were definitely not connected and definitely not in any way narrative or with an arched storyline," he explains, having just finished ordering parts for his vintage Neve console. "I love telling stories, and I love third and first person narratives, but I wanted to write a different album. Every song that I did, with only a couple of exceptions, was much faster than what I'd usually default to, and it actually made me write different lyrics," he says excitedly. "So in some ways, I think it allowed me to write shorter verses and write less lyrics. I think that it led to more impressionistic content, because I didn't have these really long verse forms to fill up with a story, and it ended up making the record more abstract. In some ways, there is a refreshing lack of specific information, which is against my judgment," he laughs. "I like to be really specific." That's not to say that Vanderslice paints only in broad strokes. There's a track about being stalked by a snow leopard ("Tremble and Tear"), and another about an Eastern Bloc gymnast escaping the control of her minders and falling in love at the Olympics ("Romanian Names"). There's a story about cross-dressing at summer camp ("Summer Stock"), and one about a self-absorbed man who only cares about how his lover's selflessly altruistic deeds reflect on him ("C&O Canal"). Long influenced by the storytelling methods of his favorite filmmakers, Vanderslice remains the director behind the actors in his songs, even if he's increasingly comfortable letting the listener imagine the scenes. "If you're going to be a songwriter, you have to believe that every minuscule slight has importance," he says. "You have to believe that every little loss that you've had is meaningful and can, therefore, be broadcast out in the world and be exaggerated and amplified into a song. There's a trick there at work, and once you recognize it, you can either use it or it can also end your writing career. I've seen people lose their ego. They've become much more mature and developed as humans and are unable to write from a first-person perspective. For me, I've long realized that any individual is about as important as an ant colony on a hill in West Texas," he laughs. "I didn't have a problem with my ego dissolving over time, as it naturally should," he says with a comic pause, "unless you're a sociopath or a megalomaniac." HOMETOWN: San Francisco, California AGE: 42 HIS FAVORITE FILM OF THE MOMENT: Synecdoche, New York, It really helped me to see it over and over. I think I saw it four times in about a week, so I really got to dig into it. I'm getting into the same kind of movies, what I call "puzzle movies." I don't think they work if you casually watch them. I think you have to believe in them and believe that it's important to dig into them. I think that in all art, there has to be a level of sympathy, no matter what it is.

DAMIEN JURADO: Sessions

Steve Martin — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 19:00:47 +0000

While in the midst of a three-month cross-country tour with opener Laura Gibson, supporting his most recent release, Caught in the Trees, Damien Jurado took a few minutes to stop by our office, record a couple songs and stretch on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Damien Jurado - Icicle Damien Jurado - Put The Hatchet Down Damien Jurado - Hoquiam Damien Jurado - Last Rights These tracks were recorded by Steve Martin at the American Songwriter offices in Nashville, Tennessee. While in the midst of a three-month cross-country tour with opener Laura Gibson, supporting his most recent release, Caught in the Trees, Damien Jurado took a few minutes to stop by our office, record a couple songs and stretch on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Though he's nearing a dozen albums deep into his recording career, the previous night was Damien's first time to headline a venue in Nashville. When he's not playing music, Jurado's your genuine nice-guy-next-door-entering a room with a personable, jolly swagger. But when he picks up his Alvarez to play "Icicles" from his 2005 album, On My Way to Absence, we notice, as we did the night before, how calm and reflective he becomes-as if he is addressing the exact emotional instant when he wrote the song. In the room, it creates a mood of intensity and sincerity, and offers a fleeting glimpse into his creative process Next, he covers the song "Put the Hatchet Down" written by Jamie Spiess, a friend of his who records under the moniker Husbands, Love Your Wives. She's just one of the many talented songwriters from the Seattle area Jurado mingles with; he regularly plays with friends J. Tillman (Fleet Foxes), David Bazan (Pedro the Lion) and Jeremy Enigk, just to name a few others. We hesitate to continue recording for a moment, fearing the sounds of traffic and shutter clicks from our cameras are distracting the recording process. Damien reassures that the factors of external sounds only make the recording more personal and real, and tells us to continue without worry with a quick flash of a smile. Then quietly, again, he begins strumming a slower-paced, haunting rendition of the opening track "Hoquiam," from 2006's And Now I'm In Your Shadow, filling the room like a benediction. Lastly, he closes with a song from his most recent album Caught In The Trees called "Last Rights," before hitting up some of Nashville's local hotspots on this much-needed day of rest. Check out our gear review for this session, the Izotope Ozone 4

BECK > One Foot In The Grave (Deluxe Reissue)

Evan Schlansky — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 17:11:53 +0000

One Foot In The Grave (Deluxe Reissue)" src="http://www.americansongwriter.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/cover__300cmyk-300x300.jpg" alt="BECK > One Foot In The Grave (Deluxe Reissue)" width="200" height="200" />
In 1993, he and a few musicians, including Calvin Johnson of K Records, recorded this lo-fi masterpiece on out-of-tune guitars and rusty microphones, deep in the woods drunk on 99 cent beers. Label: INTERSCOPE Rating: 5 out of 5 stars These days, Beck might live in a mansion, but he's no stranger to the shack. In 1993, he and a few musicians, including Calvin Johnson of K Records, recorded this lo-fi masterpiece on out-of-tune guitars and rusty microphones, deep in the woods drunk on 99 cent beers. Or at least, that's the vibe you get when listening to it. At the time, the Silver Lake transplant was deep into rotgut folk music ("Mighty Good Leader" "Hollow Log") and surrealist hobo poetry ("Sleeping Bag," "Cyanide Breathmint," "I Get Lonesome"). There's also stray bits of punk rock experimentation ("Ziplock Bag," "Outcome") interspersed among all the largely acoustic noodlings. Weirdness is the chief weapon here, but genuine emotion emanates throughout. Get it for, if nothing else, the host of B-sides that serve as a museum to the early mind of Beck during a very fertile period.