This summer I listened to a hand-labeled CD marked “Prabir And The Substitutes” in simple Sharpie script at least a dozen times through from front to back in a single week. If you could see the avalanche of submissions awaiting my feeble attention, then you would see what a feat this is — for one little album to ensnare my attention so thoroughly on repeat and not let me up for air. It was the perfect soundtrack to a good chunk of my July, and rediscovering it at the first chill of October I realize that I never gave it the love I intended.
Prabir And The Substitutes are from Richmond, Virginia, and have been making –and self-releasing– music together since 2005. From the opening track about kissing below, the album explodes with bold and radiant sunshine harmonies. At first blush it feels simple, innocent, and very familiar, but soon they become a bit unwound as the album rolls along with the ragged edge and influences that modern day kids understand so well (I mean, we all know the punk, we all know the rock). Blunt lyrics of sexual frustration over kickin’ piano crescendos sound like Jerry Lee Lewis using the kind of language he probably always wanted to use (umm, with his… cousin?). A capella harmonies and handclaps abound, but with enough crunch and scream to balance out the sugar.
These are the first two songs on Five Little Pieces, a delightfully fresh and welcome collection of tunes. Paste Magazine named them Band of the Week this summer, around the same time I was undergoing my weeks of obsession.
After touring with Dr. Dog, they play a hometown Halloween show in Richmond, Virginia and are on the road in the coming months. And although their MySpace lists an aspiring triumvirate of “Sony, Warner Brothers, AND Universal” as label, they are currently unsigned.
There’s a scene in Elf where Will Ferrell’s character, as naive and untainted by the world as he is, falls for Zooey Deschanel’s shopgirl character. He stretches out his arms wide and yells, “I’m in LOVE! And I don’t care who knows it!!“
As I stood four feet from John Darnielle and his rotating crew of Mountain Goatsat a sold-out show at the Bluebird on Friday night, I found myself thinking the same thing, with almost that same embarrassingly unabashed fervor.
Darnielle is not hip. He is too vulnerable and transparent, too honest in his lyrics and unselfconscious in his delivery to be cool. Combine that with the potent gut-punch of the songs and you’ve got a memorable evening. Amidst exuberantly lame dance moves (me too John! Me too) he spat out lyrics of hope and despair, and rocked and tore through an amazing range of intelligent and gorgeous songs from his catalog. As Rob Sheffield wrote about Pavement in the awesome Love Is A Mix Tape, “The songs were all either fast or sad, because all songs should either be fast or sad. Some of the fast ones were sad, too.” For being as obviously intelligent and well-read as Darnielle is, he hasn’t forgotten how to rock, and rock loud.
In addition to new songs off Heretic Pride and the Satanic Messiah EP, they also played some rare back-catalog tunes (“Genesis 19:1-2“), and closed the main set with “This Year.” Those final moments with the whole crowd yelling along were among my cathartic concert highlights of this entire year. It was, for me, transcendent and very timely.
Darnielle has Wilco-like fans in their rabidity. Whenever I go to a show of an artist I’ve not seen live before, and the fans are like that, I pay extra close attention to the proceedings so I can investigate catching whatever fever led them to be foaming at the mouth in the first place. In between a crazy variety of song names being shouted as requests, the range of hardcore fans was noteworthy. I saw everyone from early high-schoolers (I think it was an all-ages show) singing along at the top of their innocent hearts, to burly biker dudes and everyone in-between.
I missed opener Kaki King because I was hauling heavy things onto moving trucks, but she came out and joined Darnielle for a good chunk of the set on her guitar, alternating between acoustic and electric and even playing some slide guitar down on the floor. She is the guest guitarist on that eloquent instrumental ballad from the latest Foo Fighters’ album, “The Ballad of the Beaconsfield Miners,” as well as a collaborator with Tegan & Sara. Her distinctive style can also be heard on the new EP collaboration with Darnielle, the Black Pear Tree EP (she wrote music, he wrote lyrics). They performed “Mosquito Repellent” from that EP together, wide smiles across their faces.
The show ended too soon and left my cheeks flushed. Somewhere in these lyrics Darnielle sang, the night remains suspended:
Do what you have to do Go where you have to go When the time comes to loosen up your grip, you’ll know
Called my friend in New York, 3000 miles away Halfway through her metamorphosis, nothing I could say Hoard my small resentments Like rare and priceless gems Hang on to your dreams until there’s nothing left of them
John Darnielle andthe Mountain Goats hit Denver’s Bluebird Theater tonight with Kaki King, in a show billed as “The Last Happy Night of Your Life.” That sounds promising. I am truly madly deeply looking forward to seeing Darnielle if I manage to get the U-Haul truck loaded in my driveway in time (it’s moving weekend!). I hope to not miss it.
Darnielle is one of the most piercing lyricists of our generation, writing songs that combine hyperliterate mythical/biblical imagery with eviscerating emotional honesty. He has a way of writing a lyric that hones in on exactly the way a situation feels, and even though you’d never thought to express it in those words yourself, it feels like he’s coalescing a truth inside you that you’ve known all your life.
Take a listen to these alternate versions of songs from the limited-edition vinyl Come, Come To The Sunset Tree. According to the cover, “this vinyl edition of the sunset tree consists of songs recorded at home in north carolina.”
There’s also a great interview with Darnielle on the Denver Post’s site right now, where Darnielle reveals a recent obsession with Amy Grant (oh John, the songs I could sing) and talks about the catharsis of this amazing song live in concert:
On Friday I went to the opening night of the Damien Hirst gallery exhibit at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) Denver. Hirst is a modern British artist who I probably first heard about when watching the Live Forever documentary about British pop culture in the Nineties. He was mentioned in the same breath as Oasis and Blur, as an artist who embodied the break from the old, the hedonism, and the challenging of new boundaries.
The first piece of Hirst’s that I saw was last October when I went to visit my best girls in New York City. His most famous piece The Physical Impossibility of Death In The Mind of Someone Living (1991) is a 12 foot tiger shark suspended in bluish-green formaldehyde. That’s it. There was a layer of shark oil floating on the top. Leaking. I will admit I felt like prey, standing there in front of its huge jaws, looking at its rows of teeth, so impotent, so harmless now.
This current exhibit in Denver (now through August ’09) consists of four pieces, but the most buzzed about is the St Sebastian, Exquisite Pain (2007), because, well, it’s a gutted calf strung to a steel post, pierced through with arrows. And there’s formaldehyde again. Two of the other pieces involve butterflies –so gorgeous and ethereal in life– dead and pasted onto painted canvases en masse, while the final is a portion of his famous Pharmacy display (1992) of bottles and pills and potions stoically beaming from shelves.
As one who cut my own art history teeth on Renaissance art and the search for the beautiful, the transcendent, Hirst’s exhibit raises interesting talking points about what art is, and what (if anything) its function can be. My companion to the show is a fierce visual artist herself, so I enjoyed bouncing ideas off her — what is he trying to say or make us think about with this one? Threads of death and life and pain and modern apathy all came up in our conversations.
The calf startled me in several ways. I felt nothing but detached when I looked at him front on. Then to my right, and around to the back — brutal but clinical. But when I moved around to the fourth side, suddenly there was something sad and familiar and almost sensual about the curve of his head as it lay to the side. Strange and startling to see a bit of that ecstasy-in-death that I am so familiar with in Renaissance art. I had similar thoughts while studying the hundreds of butterflies arranged in neat geometric patterns in death. That’s what I appreciate about contemporary art — the ability to ambush you.
This last week I started twittering. Suddenly all the small moments in my life are memorialized in 140 characters or less. So now in addition to being able to keep up with what some of my favorite real-life friends are doing RIGHT THIS MINUTE, I’ve also laughed daily at the twitter feed of writer Joshua Green Allen aka fireland. I don’t know him for reals but I first read about him over on Heather’s Dooce blog, and he turns out to live up in Denver. Now, my Denver is never as fun as his Denver, but now I can chuckle at his twitter feeds like: “First time I’ve ever been fired for sexual harassment during a job interview, but your sick gams ARE my biggest managerial weakness.”
Allen also penned a great article about the perfect length for a song, and posits that it “had to be closer to three minutes than two, but definitely shorter than three minutes. Three minutes is where bloat starts to set in. Where the band thinks: Hey, let’s do the chorus seven times. Hey, let’s give the saxophone guy a real moment to shine on this one. Hey, let’s add another bridge.”
He goes on to give some love to The La’s “There She Goes” as the ultimately perfect song of that perfect length. In sum, a man after my own heart. Listen to the 2:42 muxtape too if you’re in an abbreviated mood.
Music for this week:
Pop Song Starfucker This Portland band played on Saturday at Denver’s Hi-Dive but I was literally still trying to thaw under my comforter from a freezing afternoon attempting to understand Australian Rules Football in a friend’s tournament over at the Air Force Academy. Starfucker rocked the joint, and I dozed cozily. But I’ll bet the cool kids there enjoyed their sound — sexy but not sleazy, light but with an undercurrent of electronic grime. I think this song should have played in Empire Records; it’s got that mid-90s innocence and pop heft. Starfucker’s self-titled debut is out now on Badman, and their cover of Madonna’s “Burnin’ Up” is also streaming on RCRDLBL. Worth noting, they are neither the NIN song nor the Belgian band of the same name, but apparently this recreational hobby seems to be hitting its stride.
Balloons (Foals cover)- Holy Fuck Balloons (original) – Foals Hey, while we’re already using words that make my mom blush, let’s throw this little nugget in here as well. This week Foalsand Holy Fuck released a collaboration/mutual admiration society 12″ where they each covered one of the other’s songs. These dudes both played Monolith, so I like to picture them sitting down at the oxygen bar and coming up with this idea amidst the red rocks. It could happen. To get the vice-versa cover (Super Inuit), click here. The split 12″ is out now on white vinyl via Young Turks, or on their tour(s).
Satanic Messiah Mountain Goats As I write this Sunday night (35° outside!), I’ve been listening to Mountain Goats on shuffle while I pack and go through stuff I’d rather not look through in prep for moving this next weekend. The poetic ache of Darnielle’s lyrics, his indignation and passion keep these songs on repeat. The newly-released Satanic Messiah EP is not Darnielle’s foray into black metal but rather a lovely 4-song acoustic collection with religious metaphor themes (not uncommon in his songs). Of these songs, Darnielle writes, “I am fond of them; they remind me of old vanished things.” This particular tune is ostensibly about going to see a show or performance, and how “we were all made young when he stepped onto the stage, like an animal escaping from his cage,” and then sings about how they all were “too dazed to leave when it was over.” Mountain Goats play Denver on Friday night with Kaki King, and I’m going to hope for something similar.
I Can’t Make You Love Me (Bonnie Raitt cover) Denison Witmer No, really. Listen to this cover, even if you haven’t given Bonnie Raitt much thought since you (like my sister) sang this song in Pops Choir in high school. Philadelphia folk artist Denison Witmer loves covers as much as I do, and he’s taken to releasing a whole slew of them for free in his achingly stripped-down style. Through his MySpace and a partnership with the ace Cover Lay Down blog, Denison has been giving away free songs on a regular basis, including ones originally by Band of Horses, Oasis, Van Morrison and Red House Painters. This particular one is my favorite of the batch. It starts with a settling in a room; you can hear the grey empty space starkly bouncing back his plaintive, resigned voice. It is an absolutely devastating song, and especially the way he does it — all void and defeated. Witmer’s new album Carry The Weight is out November 11th, and side project alert: check out his River Bends band with Steve Yutzey-Burkey of The Swimmers.
Urban Lull (At Once Charmed) The Umbrella Sequence I’ve said it before, but our local community college radio station is one of the best I’ve ever listened to. They have turned my ears on to so many things that I previously missed, like The Umbrella Sequence from Minneapolis. This song came over my car speakers the other day and I was instantly addicted and turned it way up. With sunshiney chiming pop melodies that fight valiantly (and occasionally win) through a scratchy wall of fuzz and electronica, they garner comparisons to Flaming Lips and Super Furry Animals. This is the lead-off track from last year’s Events (on Princess Records), and like a good aspiring rock star, Ryan Rupprecht sings over and over “We’re all getting bored” — but no, I am definitely not. Great song.
OH, A CLOSING PLEA: Help me think of fabulous Halloween costume ideas, potentially surrounding a long red dress with marvelous sequin trim I found in my basement? I also have a red feather boa, if that helps (or perhaps doesn’t). Or suggest something completely different. I’ll probably be at the Girl Talk show first that night, so I could go dressed as a hipster in neon sunglasses.
Or just this, I suppose. That would be amazing. [via]
It feels like I’ve been posting about the Avett Brothers a lot, but that’s because I’ve been listening to them a lot. They make my blood hot, and then sometimes they make things shift around loose inside of me. So that’s real good.
According to their MySpace page, they hope to have a new release ready for sale at their shows starting November 1. Continuing under the presumption that family members make the best band members, it is a gospel album called Jim Avett and Family. According to a North Carolinian fan on their message boards, the cover photo of the album (above) is the Mt. Pleasant Methodist Church where their dad Jim is a member, the church the brothers grew up in. The same fan also wrote that it was the first place he ever saw the Avett Brothers live, in the fellowship hall for a small donation right after they had signed with Ramseur Records.
After this gospel foray, the next thing we can look forward to is their Rick Rubin-produced album in 2009, their first on the Columbia imprint American Recordings.
Woodshed Films is the surf film collaborative through which brothers Chris and Emmett Malloy (along with Tim Lynch, Jack Johnson, and other artists) have turned out artistic surf culture films like Thicker Than Water, Sprout, Brokedown Melody and Shelter.
I appreciate how their work turns a daring eye towards breathtaking natural cinematography, and captures a raw & pure excitement for surfing that I can catch onto even though those damn surfboards have never cooperated with my specific self. Their films succeed at what good filmmaking is supposed to do (what good anything is supposed to do, really — writing, music included): they make you feel the way it feels, and they show you why they love it.
In addition to the graceful arcs of the ocean and the powerful control exerted by the surfers they follow, their films are always accompanied by some fantastic soundtracks. Not surprising since The Malloys are also heavily involved with the Brushfire Records label, which began with Jack Johnson as an outcropping of their film soundtracks. Check the trailer for their new film One Track Mind which premieres on Facebook next week.
How perfectly does that song align?! The visuals demonstrate all my favorite majestic aspects of that song, the way it shimmers and breaks. Here’s the rest of the One Track Mind soundtrack:
Listening to my friend Dainon‘s quality eclectic radio show tonight on KRCL.org reminds me of this achingly potent video that he shared with me recently. Shot live in the KRCL Studios in Salt Lake City, it captures Will Johnson (of both Centro-Matic and South San Gabriel), the heartfelt grit in his voice, and the striking literary nature of this song. This live version is a little slower than the album version, and whole heck of a lot sadder.
UPDATE, 6:38AM: Since I woke up and this is the first song I played –on repeat five times before I was even all the way awake– I think it’s safe to call this today’s obsession. It’s all I want to listen to. I ripped the audio because this live version is so bittersweet and heartbreaking:
UPDATE, 11:07AM: A reader just pointed me in the direction of a bit more album-faithful but equally fantastic version from Daytrotter a few weeks ago. Will shares, “Written right before the separation with my ex-wife. I was definitely zeroed in on some of that unraveling that was going on with that relationship. I hate to say it, but it’s a souvenir of that.” Eh, well that punched me in the gut; I guess it’s no wonder that it resonates so heavily with me.
I, THE KITE In the morning we were scorned in some overcrowded dream With new faces, black erasers, and a D-movie like scream And you smiled in a way that gets you into casting calls for life But your blouses of corruption ripped your dreams right out of sight
And we tried innocence and tried formaldehyde In the end you were left with the string and I, the kite
So we’re older and the soldering iron at your side Fixed the damage of the organ cutter before he could really start And you smiled in a way that gets you on the guestlist, say, for life That’s as useless as a screen door on an operating submarine
And we tried innocence and tried formaldehyde In the end you were left with the string and I, the kite
The lovely French-Tunisian-Israeli songstress Yael Naim (ah, yes — from that commercial … aaand now you’re singing it all day) stopped in at the Frontstage Studios in France at the beginning of this year for an absolutely charming, lighthearted set of acoustic tunes. I’ve been enjoying the casual ukelele vibe of her performance all day. There’s some singing in French and a Britney Spears cover, so yeah — take a listen.
NEW CONTEST: Yael is currently on tour, swinging through the Belly Up in Aspen on Sunday, October 19th. Colorado peeps, would you like to go? I’ve got a pair of tickets. Leave me a comment, maybe say something nice. It’s still random winners but still you can always say something nice.
Name: Heather Browne Location: Colorado, originally by way of California Giving context to the torrent since 2005.
"I love the relationship that anyone has with music: because there's something in us that is beyond the reach of words, something that eludes and defies our best attempts to spit it out. It's the best part of us, probably, the richest and strangest part..."
—Nick Hornby, Songbook
"Music has always been a matter of energy to me, a question of Fuel. Sentimental people call it Inspiration, but what they really mean is Fuel." —Hunter S. Thompson
Mp3s are for sampling purposes, kinda like when they give you the cheese cube at Costco, knowing that you'll often go home with having bought the whole 7 lb. spiced Brie log. They are left up for a limited time. If you LIKE the music, go and support these artists, buy their schwag, go to their concerts, purchase their CDs/records and tell all your friends. Rock on.
This summer I listened to a hand-labeled CD marked “Prabir And The Substitutes” in simple Sharpie script at least a dozen times through from front to back in a single week. If you could see the avalanche of submissions awaiting my feeble attention, then you would see what a feat this is — for one little album to ensnare my attention so thoroughly on repeat and not let me up for air. It was the perfect soundtrack to a good chunk of my July, and rediscovering it at the first chill of October I realize that I never gave it the love I intended.
These are the first two songs on Five Little Pieces, a delightfully fresh and welcome collection of tunes. Paste Magazine named them Band of the Week this summer, around the same time I was undergoing my weeks of obsession.
Name: Heather Browne
