I have been known to play guitar [poorly] in the band Kid Omega. All songs posted are for sampling purposes only and will only be hosted for a short time; you should support artists that you like by buying recordings, going to shows, and buying sweet band merch. If you own the rights to a song and want me to take it down, or if you want to submit music for review, shoot me off an email: confoundedfretbuzz [at] gmail dot com
William Elliott Whitmore, purveyor of a fine sort of backcountry Midwestern blues-folk, is mad as hell and he's not going to take it anymore.
From the call and response of the opener "Mutiny" to the closing bars of "A Good Day to Die," there's 37 minutes of one pissed off man spouting about issues of the corruption and evil that surround us in life, of the need to stop dwelling on questions of salvation, and the virtues of hard work. Don't trust the cop ("Johnny Law"), don't trust the politician ("Old Devils," "Who Stole the Soul"), and most certainly don't trust the preacher. Life is a bitter struggle ("Hard Times"), and it's difficult to navigate the way, but it's well worth carrying on and even celebrating the journey ("Hell or High Water").
This is an album autobiographical and incendiary, rustic and timely. Favorite record of the year? Maybe. I'm gonna wrestle with that question for the next few days before I put up a year-end post. So be sure to check back.
A while back, I named 1372 Overton Park as one of the albums coming out this fall that I was most excited to hear. Especially given the strength of the lead single "Hey Darlin' Do You Gamble," I came into this album with high hopes for excellence. On the other hand, I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop with Ben Nichols' voice for years now, and I was afraid that one day he'd trash it and it just wouldn't come back (his backing vocals on "Constructive Summer" on The Hold Steady's 2008 excellent Stay Positive gave me pause). Those fears, thankfully, while certainly not obliterated, have been dulled for the time being, much like the senses and higher brain functions of the band members on any given night they're out on tour (see "Can't Feel a Thing").
The first song, "Smoke," is notable for the inclusion of some Hold Steady-esque piano in the first minute or so. A change of pace for sure, but not all that surprising I suppose given Nichols' work with Craig Finn and company. "Mom" is another standout, just a fantastic ballad and a fine closer for the album. And I would be remiss if I failed to mention "What Are You Willing to Lose?," a sort of call to live life on your own terms, understanding that your path probably isn't going to be easy.
As for the addition of the horns, I don't think their inclusion is a negative. Expanding the sound a 'lil bit, nothing wrong with that. As for moving to a major, this effort doesn't feel overproduced or sterile, so those concerns were allayed. It's just really, really good Southern punk-tinged rock'n'roll. After seven albums, ten years and well over a thousand shows, the boys of Lucero may just now be hitting their stride.
After an 11-month hiatus in my educational series about the War Between the States through song, I have returned with yet another installment of ole-timey goodness. Beats book larnin', right?
Get your muskets cleaned and check yo hardtack for maggots, we got some fightin' to do!
Ready? Good. Let's do this.
(Note: the following may contain a few anachronisms.)
Hey Bobby Lee, I got somethin' for you.
I would hope that it is your declaration of surrender, good sir. How quaint of you to deliver it personally and not send a messenger!
No motherf***er! It's a goddamn Emancipation Proclamation. All your slaves are free now. They're on our side. You might as well give up now, graybeard, you're f***ed.
[scribbles something on piece of parchment]
You got something to say?
[holding up the note] Ah yes, I have just received this "Emancipation Unproclamation," the contents of which may interest you.
But YOU wrote that. Just now. I saw you, dumba**.
I'm afraid that you must be mistaken sir, it was delivered on horseback a moment ago.
I was right here the whole time, a**hole. I saw you with the pen and paper. You're not fooling anyone, you old piece of s***!
Well, perhaps you would like to read it.
[snatches paper out of Lee's hand, begins to read]
***The White House, Feb. 1, 1863
My dearest Confederate Army and Gov't,
r badd, all ur slavez r belong 2u. wuz kiddn b4
With the kindest of regards,
Abraham Lincoln
P.S. McClane, guess where your mother was last night.***
It seems that we're at a bit of an impasse, General McClane...
That does it. Yippee-ki-yay motherf***er! [coldcocks Lee, grabs rapier that's resting against the side of the tent and runs Lee through. McClane then pulls a loaded machine gun out of a chest and proceeds to mow down the entire Army of Northern Virginia.]
Forty-six years ago today, JFK was shot to death in Dallas, Texas, presumably by Lee Harvey Oswald. Unless of course you believe Oliver Stone, or your sketchy retired neighbor who has told you in confidence on several occasions that he was in fact the gunman on the grassy knoll.
Texas Is the Reason's 1996 magnum opus Do You Know Who You Are? (yes, I'm fully aware that their discography is rather limited) dwells on the conspiracy theories surrounding Kennedy's death, if only in that there are song titles like "The Magic Bullet Theory" and "Back and to the Left." Beyond these allusions, there's a lot of fantastic second wave emo to revel in. I mean, of records from this era, I like Mineral's The Power of Failing better, and I'm gonna let it finish, but "Back and to the Left" is one of the best songs OF ALL TIME. Kicks like an angry horse that had its hay soaked in pepper sauce, drank a couple cases' worth of energy beverage out of its trough, and oh yeah, the barn's on fire.
(I figured that posting a Dead Kennedys song would have been a super cop-out. I mean, if I wanted to go down that road, I could have posted Franz Nicolay's "Jeff Penalty," a song about the band named after JFK and RFK. But that would have been a bit of a stretch.)
Weird things happen at 5 am on the day an assignment is due, like taking "Only" out back, shooting it, then dragging the carcass to a country get-together. I've gotten enough limited positive response (one person liking it will suffice) that I'm gonna go ahead and post this. Thanks for open sourcing this song, Trent; without your charitable donation to the electronic music community this remix would not be possible. Cheers.
Now We Can See is the document of a band that's grown up a bit. They moved from Sub Pop to Kill Rock Stars, which I'd imagine is part of the reason why they went three years between releases. The band has gradually mellowed from the ferocious, lo-fi attack of their infancy back in the early 2000's, a development especially evidenced on this record. That said, maturity hasn't yet gotten the best of Hutch & Kathy and company. While my first impressions of this album were less stellar, it's a grower. Repeated spins have been beneficial.
2006's The Body, The Blood, The Machine took on organized religion, grabbing you early and refusing to let go for the duration. Now We Can See lacks the same kind of amped-up power chord glory that its predecessors have reveled in. Maybe the more relaxed tone of this record is meant to reflect the greater calm of death; if The Body, The Blood, The Machine was the midst of a war, Now We Can See is the fatalities making small talk.
The lead single (and title track) is nothing short of infectious. If you don't "oh ey oh oh woah oh" during that song at least once you either a) don't have a soul or b) don't have a pulse.
Not everything is here is so instantly catchy. The first couple of times I listed to "At the Bottom of the Sea," I wasn't a fan of the plodding first half of the song, but eventually grew to appreciate it for the epic build that occurs thereafter. Now it's one of my favorites here.
Overall, this album fails to match the same level of passion and immediate reward of TBTBTM, but multiple listens reveal an album that while perhaps not quite as good, is not dwelling too far below the high water mark. After a band puts out a great album, it is unrealistic to expect them to follow it up with a release that is equally as good. Given this rule of tempered expectations that I have adopted, I will gladly accept Now We Can See as a more-than-satisfactory offering of awesome.
A couple days back I was giving myself one of my regular every 4-6 week DIY haircuts with my mulitpurpose trimmer. It was going well for the first few minutes, but then after cleaning the trimmer out to keep it from overheating and such, I neglected to reset the length guide. So, instead of shortening a strip of hair on the left side of my head, I postively annihilated it. There was now a sizable chunk of hair that had been cut just about down to the scalp. There would no rebounding from this error. Everything had to go. I had to start fresh. So, after a few more minutes of reluctantly shearing my head, I arrived at the finished, alien product. I've had a lot of bad haircuts in my life, but I've never had no hair whatsoever, so this is really uncharted territory for me. It being November in New England, the timing could have been significantly better for such an event to occur, but with the passage of time and the aid of my limited hat supply, I should be able to carry on my everyday life without catching a death o' cold. On the plus side, getting a close look down to the roots, it would seem that at least for the time being I can safely debunk the fear-mongering of some that I was destined to be superbald (that won't stop me from still knocking on wood, though).
I left some semblance of beard behind, so now (depending on who you ask) I sorta look like a cross between Common and Edward Norton's character in American History X. There are worse fates I suppose.
Do I have a relevant song/songs related to my predicament? Why yes, yes I do.
First off, credit goes to Dana for notifying me of this album's existence. Without her, this post would not have been possible.
In short, this is a fantastic album of Springsteen covers. I mean, the songs are already classics and really good anyhow, but there is something about a frantically strummed acoustic guitar and imperfect, often straining, emotional vocals that lends a new urgency and infectiousness to these tunes. It's really hard to pick out a favorite because it's all so enjoyable. Alford's sweet voice complements Baribeau's rougher-edged singing quite nicely. I remarked to my friend Adam as a first impression that it sounded like it could have been a recording of an impromptu open mic performance (save for the occasionally present xylophone). I think I'll largely stick to that assessment, though these recordings lack the same sort of epic Brian Fallon-esque vocal reverb that Freud's Open Mic performers revel in at the Clark University Bistro on Thursday nights at 10 pm...
I had been marginally aware of Baribeau's existence before I listened to this album; "Ten Things" quickly became a favorite of mine a while back but for some reason I never got around to getting much else of his recordings. Also, I saw a Pink Couch session with him earlier this year, and some slightly unhinged fellow who wandered into my dorm room back during sophomore year was also apparently a big fan. After listening to Darkness On The Edge Of Your Town, I feel as though I have been missing out and will have to remedy this immediately. Plus, the dude's beard is ridiculous, a characteristic for which I always have great respect and admiration.
John K. Samson is notorious for his slow output, averaging three to four years between albums since The Weakerthans formed in 1997. Of course, many would argue that such waits have been well worth it for what has ended each of them, and I would certainly be inclined to agree.
Thus, it unsurprisingly has been more than two years since the last release of a new song from him, be it solo or with The Weakerthans. Now the time has come, with last Tuesday's release of City Route 85, the first in what is to be a series of EPs exploring the roads around Winnipeg, Manitoba. It is the first solo release from Samson since the 2006 re-release of 1995's Little Pictures. Listening to the two EPs back-to-back strikingly displays the leaps and bounds of musical and lyrical maturation that have occurred over that time. City Route 85 is over almost before it starts, comprised of just three songs totaling just under ten minutes. But the brevity of this EP is made up for by the quality of the material contained therein.
Samson is man whose art is as intertwined with the city he calls home more than anyone else who I can think of. Over the years he has time and again explored the bleak city not too far north of the U.S. border, and yet clearly has not tired of mining it for material. What is impressive about all of this is that for significant percentage of his discography spent dwelling on Winnipeg in one manner or another (for example, even the "Virtute" series is in reference to the city's civic motto, "Unum cum virtute multorum," which more or less means "one with the strength of many"), he might be dealing with the same specific geographic region, but that does not mean he has been writing the same song over and over from the same point of view. On City Route 85, his ability to craft characters who exist within the confines of the city, and who define their lives in some small way by it, is in excellent form.
The production is very stripped down, consisting mostly of just Samson and his acoustic guitar. For a man whose material is so much about the lyrics, he unsurprisingly delivers under these quiet conditions where words are apt to find closer scrutiny.
"Heart of the Continent" is a fantastic little track which reminded me a bit of "One Great City!" if only for the fingerpicking. This is from the point of view of a much more limited narrator than that song, however, as opposed to some omniscient being. Further research confirmed my suspicion that both song titles referred to official slogans that Winnipeg has had.
"Grace General" explores the bleakness of winter on a dilapidated block nearby the hospital where one of the narrator's loved ones (my guess would be his wife) has recently passed on, and the helplessness and hopelessness that the narrator feels with the void left in his life.
"Cruise Night," the catchiest (and shortest) of the three songs, dwells with that common practice of young people of driving around with the music on for the sake of it, symptomatic of the lack of other things to do in town, and also a demonstration of freedom within a confined space--you may be chained to your parents and to your city by your youth and and your means, but you have enough wiggle room within your cage to buy yourself music and drive around your hometown, even if it's not even in your car. There is a great feeling of freedom and being in complete control that comes with operating a vehicle, and this song epitomizes that feeling.
So, you should most definitely pick this up. Especially on seven inch, because vinyl is awesome, ya know?
(I apologize in advance for overtly dour nature of this post. It just happens sometimes. I feel a need to post something and I just happen to be in an off mood. To be fair, I did just finish watching Five Easy Pieces, so there's that.)
For a lot of people, Wednesday's the most difficult day to get through. Yet for me, as relatively hectic and swamped as I have found this semester, Wednesday's the eye of the storm for me. Yes, I have four hours of work, but at this point work is a respite from academics. Sometimes I question why I'm even bothering sticking around to get a master's. Will I even use the degree? I guess it's because I typically have a hard time committing to anything without first giving it tons and tons of neurotic thought which even probably won't deposit me off at some solid conclusion. I've gotten to the point where in many people's judging eyes it's entirely not OK that I haven't figured out what I'm going to do with my life. I have to deflect the questions or name some random occupation that I likely have very little interest in. I mean, it's not like I don't try to settle on something. It just doesn't happen. Even if people are just trying to make small talk (and trust me, it happens all the time, whether at work or with the person behind me in checkout at the supermarket), I probably get overly defensive about it.
So, I'm putting in the extra work so I can stick around college one more year. Buy myself some more time, hold off on leaving what's left of my academic island for good. Every year the bubble gets smaller and I feel like more and more of an outsider even though I'm still very much here. Living off campus has very much changed the dynamic of my experience at school, and in particular working on campus during the summer when there's hardly any students around, when it's just the old buildings and dust and cobwebs, out with the old and in with the new, get the repairs done so the rooms are ready for the wide-eyed freshmen when they arrive the last week of August. Watch the days shorten further and further still, the leaves drop, the air chill. All the changes of the seasons aren't going to make the illusion of scholastic grandeur quite so real to me ever again. The bloom is off the rose and it isn't growing back. And yet I still find this a feasible alternative for the time being. It's like standing on a sinking ship and refusing to get on a little lifeboat because the seas are rough and you might capsize, but who knows, that ocean liner is sinking so slow maybe help will arrive before I'm submerged, right? And if help doesn't show up, when that boat's about to sink I'll grab onto a piece of driftwood. That's just how I've always gotten by.
I guess college is just the Wednesday in my life, then. There's been a lot of work leading up to and through it, and once I leave it, there's a lot more work to do before the weekend gets around.
I must begin this post with an explanation of my absence. On Wednesday night my band Kid Omega (yes, that obscure Worcester indie-punk band with an all but defunct blog) was playing a show at Tammany Hall with the ever excellent Sister City and the incomparable Britney's Spear. Three acts. Three styles. Three hours. A couple of spilled beverages, one of which was especially entertaining. The house band never showed up. Epic fail. Oh and the Yankees won the World Series. Don't want to talk about it.
On Thursday it was my good friend Beckie's birthday, and so there was a lengthy dinner out at a nearby restaurant with all the trappings. And then I was writing a paper, which carried over into this afternoon.
But now it's the weekend. Life is good, we are young, and the beer is cheap. Real world, I'll catch you Sunday. Until then, I'm making good on my opportunities. In my estimation, the blog doesn't count as the real world so I'll probably post something tomorrow.
I was one of the masses won over to this band by the film Once a couple years back, and it's really hard for me not to get behind them. They're just such likable folks, ya know? 2006's The Swell Season had some fantastic tunes with good energy. With a largely acoustic act, one expects things to tend to the more low-key side of things, but on their debut they were able to sprinkle in enough cathartic moments to keep things interesting.
This time around, things seem just a bit more even-keeled, with Glen Hansard not letting loose nearly as often. That's not exactly a harsh indictment of the album; it's as well crafted and heartfelt as its predecessor, and is a better than solid sophomore effort from the group. Perhaps with a few more spins I'll grow to love it instead of just like it. The first track "Low Rising" is a nice soulful song (and a pretty fair choice for the lead single), and "In These Arms" is another highlight, just a straight-up good song (and probably the quietest song in which I've ever heard the word "asshole" used).
John Carpenter. Elivra. Pumpkins. Toilet paper and eggs. Mickey Rourke.
Yup, it's that time of year again. Used to be about costumes and candy, now its about costumes and beer. Costumes being the constant, obviously. Candy and beer are both unhealthy, so I suppose not all that much has changed. And the UNICEF trick or treaters will always make you feel guilty.
In 8th Grade I really went to town on Cabbage Night. That's all I'm gonna say. But it was fun.
In the spirit of the day, I will leave you with some Rocket From the Crypt, who broke up four years ago today. These are some mp3s from their last show. Enjoy.
Procrastination is in my life blood. I'm at my best when the conditions I have to work under are at their worst, when the clock over my shoulder is rapidly ticking away the precious minutes I have left to complete the mid-term, response paper, or analytical essay with several charts and graphs imported from Excel, that bear of a program I'll probably never get a full handle on how to use effectively. Heart racing from the overcaffeination (a certain type of energy drink preferred, but in pandering to my punker, DIY readers I will abstain from naming said life-giving beverage). And the stress. Oh, the stress. My GPA hanging in the balance. Eyes occasionally losing focus. Imagining things in my peripherals that aren't there at all. Sleepless nights. Tremulous limbs. Chills. Dry, twitchy eyes. Bad for my health? Probably. Bad for my sanity? Probably. Am I capable of working any other way? When I figure it out, I'll let you know.
In these trying times which I to some [great] extent bring upon myself, the one constant that gets me through is my music collection. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I can be anywhere with an internet connection and a headphone jack and be plugged into practically my entire heap of tuneage [thanks Lala]. Right now I'm wasting precious campus bandwidth in the library to rock out to some "Holy Diver" from my fifth-floor perch in the library whilst laboring on part one of my two-part take home Urban Politics mid-term. You can just see the devil horns, can't you? Brutal Legend be damned, I need no video game to tell me how to think and feel about music. I have my own discerning ear for that purpose, thank you.
You may be asking yourself right about now, assuming that you've stuck around this long in the post, when in God's name I'm going to get around to attaching a link to an mp3 or embed a video or something, anything musical. Hasn't this piece of web real estate been re-zoned a second time for discussion of chord changes, melodies, lyrical content, the corny, the outdated, the up-and-coming, rock, indie power-pop, punk, folk, metalcore and thrash? Well, yes. And I'll get around to it, just hold up a second.
I will finish this paper...come hell or high water.
This guy's got a fantastic voice, and a sobering back-story. Worth listening to.
It's weird how you can associate a song with stuff that has nothing to do with the lyrical content of the song itself, say what song came after it on a mix CD your friend burned for you in high school, or what was happening in your life when you first heard this song.
I can't say I'm a particularly big fan of their current incarnation, but old-school Against Me! was a beautiful thing. For me, this song is Spring break 2007 (Dirrty Jerz edition) encapsulated. Not coincidentally, I saw them at the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville that same trip (here's a decent write-up). Bruce Springsteen was at the bar, no joke. Of course I had an X on each hand at that juncture. The crowd was nuts and my tiny friend Dana got sucked into the pit of despair and yet somehow emerged a few minutes later unharmed. The rascals would not get their gnome trophy that night.
Through the magic of Google, I tracked down a short clip of the encore, "We Laugh At Danger and Break All the Rules":
After 2007's subpar New Wave (which was still good enough for Spin magazine to name it album of the year [take that as you will]), I hold little hope for White Crosses. Prove me wrong, Tom Gabel. Prove me wrong.
I'll admit it. I had a few misgivings about this record before it came out. As much as John Darnielle protested on The Mountain Goats website that he had not experienced some religious revival and was still as much of a lapsed Catholic as ever, and that the new record would not be some uber-religious screed, I had my doubts ["I come from Chino where the asphalt sprouts"].
Should I have feared? No. After all, Darnielle has been seasoning his music with varying degrees of religion for his entire career, be it "Trans-Jordanian Blues" (from On Juhu Beach), "Blues in Dallas" (from All Hail West Texas), "Genesis 19 1-2" (from Devil in the Shortwave), or "I Corinthians 13 8-10" (from Nothing For Juice). Of course, the fan favorite "Golden Boy" deals heavily with themes of the afterlife, cynically portraying heaven as a place as bleakly overrun by commercialization as this mortal coil we know so well. There are other examples in the catalogue I could point to, but by now I'd like to think I've made my point that he has dealt with religious themes frequently throughout his career and always come out the other side without seeming overbearing.
So onto the album. The release of "Genesis 3:23" for download on the 4AD website during the summer worried me. I was afraid that QC had slipped, because to be honest it felt sorta like a rehash of BNL's "The Old Apartment," and given the very close proximity of Darnielle and BNL on the Ships & Dip V cruise this past February, I thought that maybe he'd been tainted by the troubled and fading Canadian band who so owned the late 90s. If this was indeed the case (and in retrospect I don't really think that it is), it's only really apparent on that one song. And yes, Darnielle is allowed to delve into subject matter that other people have tackled before in his own way; if musicians were required to come up with a completely original topic to write a song on every time, that would just be unmanageable.
On the whole, it's a very quiet, spare work, reminiscent of 2006's Get Lonely. To be honest, I much prefer the more "boisterous" Goats songs, and if you're craving that, you're not going to find much of it here. However, "Psalms 40:2" is a real barn-burner that will appease those folks who tend to shy away from much of the quieter stuff. The vast majority of the album embodies a sort of understated desperate darkness, dealing with some heavy material such as the death of his mother-in-law in "Matthew 25:21," which is absolutely devastating.
Did I like Heretic Pride better? Most definitely.
Is this a good album in its own right? Yes. Comparing the two is apples and oranges.
Tuesdays are only good for one thing, in my book. And that, my friends, is new records. Here are some key dates coming up:
September 22 Monsters of Folk - Monsters of Folk Admittedly I only just found out about this indie supergroup of Jim James, M. Ward, and the one and only Conor Oberst (via Rainn Wilson's blip.fm page no less), but the concept alone has piqued my interest. Latter-day Traveling Wilburys? We'll see.
Not wowed by this, but holding out hope for better cuts. "Say Please"
September 29 The Swell Season - Strict Joy Thoroughly enjoyed the film Once and the accompanying Oscar-winning tuneage provided by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. The man's got some serious pipes and the two of them are quite the team, even if they've moved on from the whole March - July romance thing.
This song isn't from the new album, but it's an awesome live Van Morrison cover they did that I listen to all the time. Enjoy. "Into the Mystic"
October 6 The Mountain Goats - The Life of the World to Come I'm a pretty big Mountain Goats fan, which is to say that I'm only mildly obsessive (unlike this guy). Bible verses as titles? Maybe a bit presumptuous. But I'll give JD the benefit of the doubt. On the other hand, the cover art is SICK.
Reminds me of BNL's "The Old Apartment." A solid though not outstanding track. "Genesis 3:23"
Lucero - 1372 Overton Park It's been far too long since Ben Nichols and company's last effort, 2006's Rebels, Rogues & Sworn Brothers. Must say that I enjoy the whiskey-soaked, Southern rock-meets-country-meets-punk Americana purveyed by 'em and can't wait for their newest installment to drop.
Here's a little something I recorded in one take with one microphone. Consider it lo-fi therapy after a tough week for the Boston sports fan. The first fret capo makes a guest appearance.
For some reason, today seemed like a good day to put together a collection of songs that dealt with (post-)apocalyptic themes. Aren't I just a ray of sunshine?
