RECORD REVIEWS

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It’s pretty hard to look good being alt-country these days. With bands like Wilco and My Morning Jacket quickly putting their respective trademarks on the dusty stomping grounds of sawdust barroom anthems for a new generation, the stakes for standing out grow higher. That said, A.C. Cotton’s Notes for the Conversation puts forward a valiant effort. True, its almost impossible to deny certain comparisons: the pleasantly familiar mix of Adam Duritz meets Jeff Tweedy in Alan Charing’s vocals, or the not-so-subtle nod to I Want You (She’s So Heavy) that closes Right at Home. I even read something in the paper that compared them to Tom Petty (which, admittedly, will make some of us wince). But whatever your tastes, one of Notes’ most inviting aspects is its familiarity. It welcomes you to familiar territory, acknowledges it without pandering to it. So don’t dust off Decade or your favorite Johnny Cash record just yet. Whatever influences A.C. Cotton may wear, and however far out on their sleeves those may be, there’s a lot here worth listening to. While they haven’t quite branded a sound that distinguishes them from contemporaries or influences yet, this is an absolutely solid album from a very competent band, an album that gives us much to look forward to. -et

At Dusk was a band for 2 years before they played their first show. That alone should tell you something about this band. Meticulous. That’s the best word that comes to mind. Here’s an anecdote to illustrate: I was working with Chris Anderson (who recorded and mixed Heights) in their house, and Greg and Cary were about to start recording Heights. Each was tracing an internet trail to find some compressing phantom Z73 1200 Ptube sustainer module or some other thing I’d never heard of. Asking what exactly it “did” just ended with me more confused, but I watched as they called store after store, repeating the same specifications, writing down prices, comparing with websites and shipping costs. Their methodical precision and care in music - down to the last bolt - is reflected in their songs. Everything is tight, sometimes too tight. Their musicianship is flawless, but Heights distinguishes itself from its predecessor, The Summer of Promises Kept in that it’s much less indulgent in its virtuosity. In particular, Come to Far is a perfect example of the best of directions At Dusk is taking. In the pounding melodic crescendo of the chorus “Have we come too far?” you want to yell back, “No! No! Keep going!” Still, some very strange flights of fancy will certainly catch an unaccustomed listener off guard. Sudden bursts of Gregorian chants, for example (You Make Me Worry), the grinding off-kilter leers of guitars doped up on frequency-analyzers, etc. The record is nicely kept on the ground with solid, dreamy melodic tracks like Farewell Joel Dean and The Face is That of an Angel juxtaposed with the solid math-rock of PS or Tired Eyes. The vocals are still a bit flat and a bit self-conscious (Welcome Home), the songs still incredibly complex, but here all these At Dusk trademarks are moving toward a defining stamp, rather than a distraction. -et

It opens with the sound of some vague, creaking, anonymous machine starting up, and then running on in the background throughout the first verse. Then it stops, and some other, louder machine comes in during the bridge. Until this point, the song has been nothing but lead songwriter E.B. Harry singing in a heavy vibrato about the state of the world, government, and everything else you’d imagine, under the title of Ignorance is Bliss, while he trots along on his old-timey sounding guitar.

Then the cello joins in, and Black Bird Red lifts off as more than just a socio-political, Simon Joyner fan. Not to take away from Harry’s skill as a songwriter, but the brother and sister duo that backs him up, sharing about a dozen instruments between them, is really what makes this band interesting, at least in person. The album, a four song EP, is really only a glimmer of what this group will be capable of with more time. The instrument arrangement is the strong point.

From the machines to the piano to what sounds like a singing saw, every song is full of surprising turns. The songs, however, (one with the title When First Bombs Fell) are social commentary on the cynical side, which fail to engage anyone but those who already agree with the penman. With more metaphor, and perhaps a little more sincerity, Black Bird Red will enjoy the success that Simon Joyner never bothered to achieve. –ib

blackbirdred.com

My first impression of Climber was—their logo. It was everywhere I looked: bathroom stalls, lampposts, in the paper. Theyy’d been getting press like mad, and apparently were on a manic promotions insurgency. My alert level was raised to a cautionary orange. And then it all stopped. Last I had heard, a member had been experiencing some trouble, shows were being canceled, and no one knew if they were coming back again. I was truly disappointed, and I hadn’t even heard the band yet.
Then, 6 months later, they’re back. As mysteriously as they had disappeared they were sending out promos and playing again. Here at MLP, we were fortunate enough to get a nine track demo of some of the songs they’re considering for the next album. Lucky us, but not you, because that’s not what I’m reviewing. I’ll say this, though, the next album will be profoundly moving.

So, on to the EP. It’s good. It’s got short songs that get right to the center of their mellow, quasi-electronic pop. While the theme is ever-present in popular music today, Climber avoids most of the chintz and makes smooth, thoughtful, heartfelt songs. Shake the Ground and Snakes are particularly exceptional examples. Washed out drums some times, dry electo-drums at others. Squeaky acoustic guitar in one, ethereal keyboard in another. And lots of, “hey, hey, hey, hey, hey”, for good measure. Still not sure what the lyrics are, or mean, but I want to know, you know?

All of the vocals sound a little sad, mostly on I’m Here. This one comes in a little too overly emotive for my taste, but I could imagine a lonely, heart-broken individual finding empathy and commiseration in the track. The band goes a little too far with the use of auto-tune on Horns, as well. Oh, my GAWD, I can’t stand that trick. But they’re forgiven in that I hardly even notice it anymore when I listen to the album. Hmm… maybe they know something I don’t.

Oh, really, who am I kidding? They’re much smarter than I am. –ib

www.climberpdx.com

Honey Bee is the project of the talented Cosmik Muse, M. Underwood of the band Beliss. Primarily a solo peice, D-lushis, as she calls herself, plays everything herself, from guitar to sax to violin, except for the acoustic bass, which is played by her equally talented sister, Belinda. It is an experiment in acoustic art pop, blending jazz, noise and electronic, down tempo style.

Now, I am not a big fan of 808 style drumbeats. I find the metronome precision and unflawed lack of dynamics contained in each loop boring, at best. Like the white noise of bus windshield wipers. And it’s an issue I find with Honey Bee. But that’s pretty much the only thing wrong with it. Well, that’s not entirely true. The off rhythm and too hot in the mix rainstick sounding shaker on Sweet Dove, among others, is distracting. And the “rap” on Evaporation and Smoke borders on embarrassing.

The songs themselves are actually quite enjoyable though, at their core element. Ranging from soft rain patter on the window to broken heart walking down the midnight street. From the danceable and simple, Fender Rhodes infused Crooked Road and the Briar to the interesting mix of creepy organ music, chanting, and surf guitar on Desert Death, Honey Bee takes you on a rather personal audio journey. And seriously, she can come and play saxophone in my band anytime. As well, D-Lushis’ eerily low, sweet voice betrays subtle hints at an amazing range.

Obviously an accomplished musician with amazing credentials, both her parents are jazz musicians and her music school career started at a very young age, D-lushis is gracefully flexing the muscle she has carefully toned. But with all her fortunate history, I wanted something more from this album, her solo work. Something she clearly has inside, yet only peeks out of the sleeve of the eco-friendly packaging Honey Bee is in. --sh

www.cosmikmuse.com

Oh, God, Oh, Jes! This band is hard. I mean freakin’ HARD!, pulling influences from the complete stable of hard rock bands from the modern era. DFIVE9 have left no stone unturned in their conquest to reign supreme in Portland’s own harder rock scene. For some reason, I hear a lot of Alice in Chains in DFIVE9’s music, and the band has figured out all the neat little production tricks hard rock bands like to use. Personally, my vote for the best song would be Aneurysm. It runs the gauntlet of various hard rock resources and has a pretty catchy chorus of, “This is my very own disease.” So if anyone out there is looking for some radio-friendly (and yet undiscovered by MTV) hard rock, DFIVE9 is for you. -bb

www.DFIVE9.com

I know, I know, we’ve all learned the lesson before, but I always seem to forget it as soon as I’ve learned it. I’m talking about cool CD packaging equating to cool music on the CD. Case in point, DTMH’s album not only came in an old school, first generation of computers, floppy disc casing, but the CD itself looks like a vinyl record with grooves and everything. “This is going to be soooooo kewl,” I thought. Then I listened to the music. It’s not that DTMH is terrible, they’re just not interesting. They sound like a mixture of Marilyn Manson and a tripped-out, hard rock, spacecore band. The guitar and vocal effects that they have on every single song just gets boring after awhile. It just seems that the band is hiding behind all these effects and the constantly screaming vocals don’t treat a hangover well. Maybe the real lesson here is to not try and review DTMH’s after a night of binge drinking. -bb

www.damnthesemonkeyhands.com

I hate the word “emo”. I hate record reviewers and music writers that use it to describe an album or an artist. I hate arguments over where “emo” started. Does this mean I hate emotional music? No. Does this mean I hate Sunny Day Real Estate? No. Does this mean Desperately Waiting sucks? No. Quite the opposite. The power of this album is the gutsy move to place an instrumental as the first song. Some bands can do this with maybe a minute long song, but DW pulls it off for 3 minutes and 30 seconds. Fuck You Brick, quickly sums up (musically) what you can expect from the rest of the album: delicate melody lines that take you throughout every song’s twists and turns. DW has their noisy moments, in which they explore different sonic arenas. The lyrics are standard indie rock fare. Describe them how you will, but DW is not “emo” to me. No one is. -bb

www.desperatelywaiting.com

I’ve got bad news: Summer’s over. But, listening to An Elaborate System of Harnesses might help fight autumn blues with its funky dance-pop sound and positive feel. They have fun, catchy tunes and guitar chords that stay in your head long after the CD’s over. The title track sets you on your way to bliss with its happy vibe and rockin’ guitars. They take a basic pop sound and turn it into a fusion of guitar-rock, psychedelic whispers and harmonized vocals. Empty Set doesn’t have the most original sound, but they’re pretty damn good at what they do. -lp

www.emptyset.com

Ah, the precision of math rock. A visualization of Fiery Cubist’s music may look like a series of ones and zeros, but there is no programming in this band. They don’t sound digital, in fact they sound really organic in that “I’m shopping in a co-op, because I want to,” sort of way. But every beat, every note ends precisely. There’s no sloppiness. The most mathematically stimulating song is Case of the Colossal Bore, where the singing of the song’s title punctuates haltingly over a marching drum beat and an abruptly aborted guitar strum. Fiery Cubist is a good mixture of technical ability clashing heads with the anger and frustration of hardcore punk; the good ol’ hardcore punk of Minor Threat or Black Flag. None of this new hardcore bullshit filtering through.

Your Black Heart ends the album with an ellipsis-esque opening guitar line that grabs your attention and takes you through the song. When it’s over, you wish there was more and put the disc on repeat. -bb

www.olympianshadowfarm.com/fierycubist.html

It’s difficult to know what to make of this CD. The art speaks for itself: on the outside cover of a CDR case is a homemade computer hodgepodge of a black and white landscape with various elements such as a dinosaur fossil, what looks like a medical CT scan of a brain, and a photo of berries tacked on for some color…?

Yeah. Inside, we’re told, “only a fish can do the autobiography of a fish” alongside a track list and an email. Who or what the Food Pyramids are exactly is up to speculation. My guess is one or two guys messing around in a basement or bedroom with some computers. What I mean by this is that the album just doesn’t feel finished. Being that it’s entirely DIY, we should, and will, give some leeway here, but my biggest complaint about 4. Holy Hits is that some really striking, engaging material is absolutely buried under a pile of ideas that spin their wheels and fail to go anywhere. There are absolute gems in this record- the spacey trance drift of “The Pyramid Praise,” the shoegazing glory of “The Gods Eat Smoke” or the intense guitar/drum machine syncopation of “In My Train Life.” All the elements of a truly exceptional album are here, they’re just mixed and mashed in with stuff that should have been stripped off in the process. “Goodbye America” spins its monotonous mantra over two chords and a metronome click for almost 5 minutes and we only get a minute:22 of “The Gods Eat Smoke”? It almost makes you feel cheated to get such short glimpses of really promising material amidst 15 tracks of blatant indulgence. -et

There’s something about a band that has swagger and attitude, but when the band has the music to back it up, there’s something special there. The Hell Yeahs do a better job at bringing low down and dirty rawk n’ roll to the masses than The Murder City Devils. The Hell Yeahs pull it off because you can dance to every freakin’ song. Now I know it’s not “cool” or “rad” or “hip” to dance at rock shows anymore. The kids in the Northwest would rather tap their toes and nod their heads, but MCD brought us up to the line. We were almost ready to shake our booties, and then they broke up. But for those of us still standing at that line, The Hell Yeahs are going to push us over. How can you deny the body’s shimmy shake response to the Hammond organ in Can’t Do What I Should? The pounding rhythm of Sympathy for Brian Jones gets your toe tappin’ then the tappin’ infects your leg and travels up your body until you find yourself - gasp - dancing!

The Hell Yeahs are the great new hope for a rebirth of dirty American mod music. Kids, let go of the indie rock pretension and let your bodies move to the sounds of The Hell Yeahs. -bb

www.thehellyeahs.com

The average song length on Josh Hodges’ first album is 2.97 minutes. Wait, I just figured it out... that’s 2:55. Anyway, the point is that the songs are really short. (This average doesn’t include the secret song, but you get it.)

But somehow, within these songettes, Hodges manages to create complete compositions of the highest pop sophistication. Seems like most everything written about him thus far has compared him to Eliott Smith. It’s a silly comparison, made only because, like Smith, Hodges writes quiet, sad, and yet somehow peppy songs. If such ability weren’t so uncommon, the Smith comparison would never come up.

In fact, if there’s anything derivative about Hodges’ music, it would have to be the familiar sound of Pinback. On Little Bit More, for instance, the bass line sounds like it was written and performed by Zach Smith himself. Also, Hodges is a big user of digitally arranged instruments and mesmeric rhythms.

But, finally, to his credit, this artist will burden such onerous comparisons for only a short time. What he offers on Sexton Blake pushes the genre of quiet pop forward into a new generation. Take, for example, how he lets his double-track vocals fall out of time on Want to Die, but only in the first verse. Second verse—completely in sync. Right when you think you can peg him down, he deftly steps out of your way, avoiding any tricks, not to mention predictability. This is, by far, my favorite album this season. –ib

www.joshhodges.com

I thought I told you is a country-rock album that sometimes borders on rock-country. Marie had produced the kind of album that could be a staple in the saloons of Eastern Oregon towns. Marie has a good voice and is ably backed by a number of musicians on a myriad of different instruments. It succeeds most when it sticks to its country/ folk roots, but suffers when it strays too far into a rock vein, complete with wailing saxophone.

http://www.stevispaulding.com

When Peakahokahoo starts out, you think you’ve just uncovered the rarest of treasures. The Basement Tapes, Debbie Gibson edition. The first few tracks sound the creation of a 12 year old with a Casio in 1985. However, somewhere around the punk rock cover of The Who’s “My Generation,” the album begins to incorporate much more. The album never settles down and never loses the Casio feel, but it begins to get very interesting. It shifts from punk to songs that you swear could’ve been stolen from and early Cranberries album to “Night song,” a track that starts out with the standard Casio “demo” beat, but suddenly morphs into a forties style jazz duet complete with a full horn section, upright bass, piano and a real drummer.

The album defies categorization or even a rating of any kind. It’s not good or bad, but rather good and bad. When I first started listening to Peakahokahoo I thought it might be the most awful piece of music I’d ever heard. But, by the time I was done listening I was literally laughing to myself because it had managed to grow on me. Peakahokahoo’s not good or bad; it just is what it is.

Professor Gall seems to be coming from two very distinct places on Red’s Recovery Room; that of a Tom Waits impersonator and that of a jam band. However, the band runs into the problem that they’ll never get around on both fronts. One, no one can impersonate Tom Waits. Tom Waits is so good specifically because he is Tom Waits and no one else does what he does. Two, the jam band genre is slowly dying an ugly death, and those who can’t rise above it are likely to die with it to. Their jams are redundant and, frankly, it’s hard to separate one from the next and, like their Waits impersonations, they lack genuineness. However, having said that, the band has talented musicians and I can see the potential in the songwriting, but Professor Gall needs to craft their own style and stick to it.

Throwing his dusty hat into the even dustier singer/songwriter ring, Mo Phillips offers us The Boat. On its surface, Boat is well played, but deceptively, standard fair. But underneath all the mandolin, banjo, and what I’m guessing to be a Martin, there is a treasure chest of sonic gems. From the subtly Tuvinesque quality of Target Practice to the ring modulated guitar solo in Shadow and Light. There are little surprises hidden everywhere on The Boat, that demand multiple listenings.

Phillips possesses a gravelly nasal whine that is often reminiscent of Sir Neil and at times, John Prine, thankfully not overwhelmingly so. His phrasing and guitar style has a familiarity that at once evokes sadness and hope. In that things aren’t going very well right now, but this is now, that will be then, sort of way.

The Boat is fine listen by a fine musician, top notch production by Jeff Saltzman, and the CD art is pleasant and well designed. Phillips surely doesn’t rock The Boat, but there are some beautiful waves created in it’s wake.

www.guruskoolmusic.com/mo_phillips.htm

Take a good musician who knows music theory. His band breaks up and he’s left to be inspired with his solo work. Then, say this guy has some nice looping gear, a guitar and some great songwriting ideas. Put this guy in a studio with his experience and some free time you would then have Leb Borgerson and his Quiet Countries. Loop based guitar rock. Vocals that penetrate. Times that change. Serenity within madness. Order amongst chaos. All that is felicitous.

This album is merely an EP but feels more whole than they usually do. There were a lot of nuances that I didn’t catch the first time I listened. If your stereo is set so the whole cd repeats, you may not even notice ‘til the third time around. -md

www.quietcountries.com