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Ali Ipolito 2003, Self Released Sometimes show tune, sometimes jazz, and sometimes hymnal, Ali Ippolito’s music is, above all, entrancing. On this too short and skillfully produced EP, Ali simply sings and plays piano, but the end result is much more than the sum of these parts. Her beautiful, plaintive voice breaks all of the classical “rules”, coming more from the chest than the abdomen, more from the head than the throat. This way she makes her voice sound like a reed instrument. It’s then balanced by some of the most passionate and fullest keys I’ve ever heard. Her sense of melody is timeless. Her art comes to us through generations of the most gifted of performers, those who understand the cosmos, quantum mechanics, and string theory without ever needing the aide of a microscope or calculator. Their only theory is that of music. Some For You covers themes so familiar that you’ve known them since before you could understand speech. Perhaps that’s the heart kneading feeling I get every time I listen to her, that memory of simplicity and safety that existed before memory. Listening to Ali is to listen to one’s own heart. -ib
Andi Starr 2003, Self Released Andi Starr’s songs are very pretty but a little macabre and juvenile. I hate how that sounds, and have no intention of discrediting her work. It’s the kind of music that I would put on while I’m going to sleep, except that I don’t want to have the lyrics of Me Beautiful (the title track) lulling me with words like, “In a bathroom mirror is and ugly girl/doesn’t know herself apart from mommy’s world.” Does that mean these lyrics don’t speak to anyone? Not at all. The production on Me Beautiful (the album) is magnificent, and the song writing is strong and, as I’ve already alluded very, very serious. Kurt Vonnegut’s writing was once described a bitter-coated sugar pill. I would describe Andi Starr’s music as a sugar-coated bitter pill. While the music is pleasant and endearing, the message at heart is one of disappointment, disillusionment, heartbreak and, surprisingly, hope. After wading through half the album, surviving the strain of Andi’s experience, the song Hold On gives a message of peace and faith. I imagine the album functions mostly as a guide book for the young woman who is coming of age. The dynamics are impressive. Songs lead from drums and guitar to stark piano interludes. I would strongly recommend this album to the overly optimistic and the dreadfully depressed. You’ll both find something empathetic and elucidative. -ib
Bryan Free 2003, Self Released Bryan Free has released what is quickly becoming one of my favorite albums of the year. His piano playing sounds like Ben Folds interpreting Gershwin and Prokofiev at the same time. His singing sounds like Thom Yorke impersonating Freddie Mercury. The lyrics express an inner monologue we can all relate to. The album is piano and voice at its center, but its well-coated in drums, strings and horns. In the liner notes we read, “Copyleft 2003, Copy this album and give it away. Share music!” It even came with 2 copies of the cd in the package. Normally I would think the sentiment comes from an attempt to spread one’s own music and gain recognition. Ok, that’s exactly what it is. But, Free’s music is so good that you want to give it away anyway, and you’re relieved that at least one artist is encouraging you to do so. With the right promotion team backing him up, he could take the city, state and maybe even country by storm, but the man seems to be taking a different approach altogether. He’s recording great music and leaving it up to you, the listener, to decide if anyone else should hear it. The best marketing of all, in my estimation. -ib
Burning In Water 2003, Self Released Burning In Water is a tight band with a talented singer and an obvious grasp of solid song structure. At moments I am reminded of the radio play era of Faith No More. The downish tempo, and heavy guitar, along with rolling and sometimes odd metered drums, are reminiscent of early 90’s Hair Alt-rock. If I was sixteen (again) and saw these guys opening for Mother Love Bone, I’d probably be stoked. Unfortunately, we’re living in the twenty-first century, and one should choose their musical revival wisely. Doing hair band music, that revives 90’s hair band music, which was a revival of 70’s hair band music is not only redundant, but boring. It lacks innovation. It feels as if I’ve heard it before, yet has no context in musical history. The recording sounds great, the band itself is a group of talented musicians, but that just doesn’t cut it. The bigger struggle for a new band is not musical prowess, but the establishment of an identity. Expressing yourself uniquely, and developing an alliance with your fans that makes them feel as if they are a part of something different and progressive is key to making your mark. Imagination. Period. I hope to never meet these guys in a dark alley, but Burning In Water are the type of band seen at the Eagles hall with a crowd consisting of their girlfriends and the drunk Vet spinning in circles on the dance floor. You feel sorry for them, but you still dash past the stage to the bar, and then to the pool tables. I feel like a dick, but I speak my heart. Sorry. -nno
The Decemberists 2003, Self Released The first 30 seconds of The Decemberists new EP, The Tain, may be the coolest in music since bands like Deep Purple and pre-prog King Crimson were writing guitar lines that sounded like they were ripped from the middle of the Earth. Somehow, The Decemberists, arguably Portland’s favorite pop band, have resurrected that Frankenstein’s monster of musical endeavors, the rock opera. Divided in into five separate, contiguous parts, but all on one track, The Tain is an eighteen and a half minute piece of epic poetry set to dramatic swells and roller coaster composition. A loose thread of characters resembling a Shakespearean cast list tie the lyrics together, mostly sung in the unique voice of Colin Meloy, with the exception of Part IV. It was sung and written by Rachel Blumberg who takes leave of the drums for it. A sad, wistful circus number, her sweet, fragile voice tells of the hardships of single motherhood, which then, seamlessly, flows into part five, a creepy Meloy number about the murder of a chaplain down by the river. All the stories, four plus the voice of a narrator, are like this, flowing from one into the next. To those familiar with their earlier work, this album will be a curiosity. Yes, the music is fluid and the songwriting is clever, as Decemberists listeners have come to, I suspect, expect. On more than one occasion I found myself reaching for the dictionary or woken up with some part of it in my head. But this really is, in all due respect, a rock opera. Doubled up, overdriven guitar/organ parts, tom fills, ambiguous lyrics that apparently follow the story line of an old Irish tale about a queen, hell bent on stealing a bull. And it rocks pretty freakin’ hard in spots. So come prepared. Come, though. No caveat here. Perhaps this is musical evolution or just an interesting branch on an ever growing, and sprawling, tree. Whatever the case may be, The Tain is a good way to spend eighteen and a half minutes. Or more, I imagine, what with all the frequent trips back into the CD player. -sh
EUX AUTRES 2003, Bon Mots Music Everybody I know believes the world is going to hell. It doesn't matter what your personal political philosophy is; pick a headline, curl up into a little ball, duct tape at the ready, and wait for Tom Ridge to announce, through a mouthful of freedom fries, that alerte l' orange has gone alerte rouge via the EBS. Luckily, there are seriously major attitude adjusters for those of us that need a quick head-in-the-sand remedy here in the ol' Portland, Oh Argh. Heroin, skate parks, Tango dancing, and the Suicide Girls. Choose your vice. There will be no judgment here. But before you do, add to that list, transplanted from Omaha, Eux Autres. They are oh, so cute and friendly. Siblings even, and they sing slightly off key and in moderately faux foreign voices. I can see the sunshine again. Fuck you, Tom Ridge. In the tradition of bands such as the White Stripes, Mates of State and Quasi, Eux Autres give up large production for pared down simplicity and rely on interesting melody over heavy riffage. And they succeed in both of those areas but I feel a little overwhelmed at times by the heir apparent retro-vibe. I swear to Mon Dieu, the pining-for-you track, Carolina, could be a montage piece for the missing Monkees movie. The whole EP is all very psychedelic, soda fountain and peppermint. I picture short-skirted, paisley wearin', go-go dancers doing the swim on some ultra European version of Laugh-In. Which doesn't sound so bad except for the fact that I don't have a satellite dish and can't pick up 1968 on basic television. But there is something else about this brother/sister duo that I can't put my finger on. It's not necessarily sinister, but... Maybe it's the overtly peppy, back and forth vocals that make you think they are passing knowing glances to each other when you aren't looking. Maybe it's Janet Weiss' production; making each snare hit on Le Projet Citron sound like a chilling doomsday call-to-ride for the four horsemen. Or maybe it's the schizophrenic chattering that occupies the last minute and a half of Patrick Nil, their debut three song, EP. Whatever it is though, there is something underneath the sibling Larimers that is scratching at the façade like rats getting ready to jump ship. To use their own words describing the "stainless brethren", Eux Autres "have nails under their nails". -sh
Ghost To Falco 2004, Coletta Blue Records Ghost To Falco seems to be one Eric Crespo and his collection of contributors. I’ve heard great thing about his live performance, but all I know is from his cd. It’s 5 songs of cataclysmic proportions. In fact, listening to the album felt like hearing the soundtrack to the apocalypse. It started with the bombs dropping, went on to the nuclear winter, and ended with whatever life is left over for the survivors. That’s just musically speaking, but the lyrics seem to follow a similar path, lamenting the sins of the common man. In retrospect, I’m not sure when you want to put this album on. It’s not good for parties, and it’s not quite right for getting down with your lover. I suppose it’s best for doing dishes to, while you think about the impending doom of our generation. At least, that’s what I did. -ib
Gina Noëll 2003, Rock Kitten Records The internal struggle I have gone through in order to pen this review has nearly made me deaf, dumb and blind. I quake with anxiety yet must press on and reveal my personal bias. I hate this record. I can find very little to say that is positive, but I will try. In order to do so, I will use a list-based system. Here we go. Well start with the good aspects of the album, just to be diplomatic. Good Things: Nice packaging, design, photography, and execution of thematic content. The album’s namesake, Letting Go of Strings, is skillfully rendered by the visual design team. Kudos. The photo of the album reminds me of Dee-Lite somehow. Strange. Audio production has also been carried off quite professionally and a host of well-known local musicians pitch in their two-cents on the record. Bad Things: I have been in intense debate with several people on the topic of whether Noëll can actually sing or not. I vote no. Most others vote yes, she can sing, but her style is unpalatable. Quite the quandary really. Second problem, her songwriting is atrocious, especially lyrically. I feel like tearing my eyeballs out when I am forced to be subjected to this tedious material over and over again. I see better writing on a regular basis on bathroom walls. Letting Go of Strings, overall, comes across as a vanity record, sadly. I wonder which and what kind of strings Noëll has needed to let go of in order to produce such an album. Perhaps she would be better served to let go of that Producer husband of hers who encouraged her to undertake the project in the first place. -eda
Hindi Guns 2003, French Fan Club Records Something that irks me when someone talks about a recording project I’ve done is to pick out the single. Usually it’s some throw away song that took about a half an hour to create, lauded by everyone because of how catchy it is. Sure I was obviously inspired when writing that song, but what about the rest of the album? Is my creativity consistent, or am I a one hit wonder? Having said that, Goin’ to Portland, track number four on The Hindi Guns self-titled album is what strikes gold with me. I see it as a catchy, upbeat, musical mascot to Portland’s identity, with a marketing capability similar to the recent “Dreamers” campaign done for the state of Oregon. Imagine a camera panning through the cavorting and smoke filled Sandy Hut, where everyone is having a raucous, if not some what self-destructive good time. The peak of the ad contains the tag line: “Portland, It’s for Loadies.” That’s the kind of gem it is: Simple, identifiable with a little “I don’t give a fuck” thrown in for good measure. Unfortunately Portland is true to the nature of a lot of “singles”. It stands out and is stylistically different from the rest of the album; the odd duck of the album is also the best it has to offer. The rest of the songs are mid-tempo british invasion type numbers with singer DeeDee Cheriel slurring out slow, flat and sexy vocals a la Patti Smith/Kim Gordon. It’s a decent sound, but not very dynamic. A couple more fast numbers or even a deathly slow, heartfelt ballad would break up the monotony. The Hindi Guns are a good act, I like their “thing”. It’s swingin’. It’s groovy. It just needs 50 cc’s of creative juice with a jigger of adrenaline. Goin’ to Portland is a single I’ve added to my collection. I can’t wait for the “best of” album. -nno.
The Maybe Happening 2004, Perilymph Records This might seem like a bit of a genre jump to current fans of Maybe Happening, but bare with me. I believe most readers out there are familiar with the Charlie Daniels Band fiddle laden masterpiece "The Devil Went Down to Georgia." The song tells of a young fiddle player named Johnny's duel with the devil for his soul/a golden fiddle. As the devil prepares to step up for his end of the showdown, Daniels mentions that he is backed by a "Band of Demons." My working hypothesis is that The Maybe Happening is that band of demons. With the part of the devil being played by violinist Nathan Langston (who also offers some choice spoken word which leads you to believe that the devil may be the bastard child of Henry Rollins and Ashley MacIsaac). Whatever your take on this band you can surely conclude you've rarely, if ever, heard anything like them. -kc
QueenBee Jackson Self Released I saw QBJ live once and I wasn’t all that impressed. I was sure it was due to the fact that the venue was a bad space for a rock band, but also, they seemed to lack stage presence and were a bit sloppy as well. Again, it could’ve been solely the bad venue. So I tried to wipe away any bad impression I had so that I could review their record with the utmost unbiased ear. When I put the record in I was glad I was right in that I would be more impressed by their studio work. They seemed to have a lot more confidence and were especially tight. Two minutes into the first song, Oh Well, I realized this particular song annoyed me before. Four minutes of, ”huh huh huh’s,” that seemed to go on forever, made up most of this six-minute track. Still I had to listen with an open ear. So here are my two cents. Hilary Spray’s abilities as a songwriter, guitarist and vocalist are amazing. Her lyrics ring true in any walk of life, even with the use of not very real words. There’s nothing like redundancy to make a song six minutes long instead of two, but I see the point. Overall, I really like QBJ and their EP. I can’t wait to see them live again, and/or ‘til they come out with a full-length album so I can yet again mold my opinion. Next time I’ll have to make sure it’s at a good venue. -md
The Roulettes 2003, Lucky Madison Records I know there are actually people out there that love when girls dress up like rock stars, play the electric guitar badly and scream and moan out of key with some girly harmony and say things like “bitch” and “penis”. I, however, do not. This album is five songs long with around 4 chords in each. Immature lyrics, whether it be about boyfriends they want to tell off or “stickin' my dick in women”, remind me of why I'm not a dumb girl. Their attempt at being vulgar fell short because they tried too hard to pull off something that's only “attractive” when you see them at some party, half naked. I had a hard time listening to this album, but I did, three painful times. The more I listened, the more I realized I should go practice my guitar because music is meant to sound good, well, unless it's meant to sound bad? -md
Rubber Burning Hotrods 2001, Doublepumper Records I really want to like this album. It sounds like Blues Traveler playing Cheap Trick songs. I saw them live and they were really cool, a lot of fun. But the record just didn’t match up with the live performance. Somehow, the massive talent of the band and its entertainment value didn’t transfer to this admittedly dated album. Maybe if they were to come out with something now it would be more entertaining. Word is that they haven’t done much in the last couple of years, but they’re playing shows again and I strongly recommend catching them live. This is a really fun live band. The album is, like, eh, but that shouldn’t discourage you. -ib
The Scientifics 2003, Self Released Sometimes I think if I had started collecting outdated Casios ten years ago for the ten dollars they were worth, I would be a wealthy man now. The minimalist, low-fi, cyber sound is quite the rage and The Scientifics are clearly on the crest of it. Imagine, if you will, the sun setting on the wasteland that is soon to be our earth. The brotherhood that is The Scientifics gather their salvaged drums and keyboards, yank the cord on their Honda generator, and perform a ritual of prayer and song to the only gods they know: the stars, the planets, and the beautiful night sky. Dancing, chanting and singing themselves into exhaustion, the climax of the evening comes with Metronome, where a beautiful female voice proves this monkhood to be an order of equality, and complete humanity. The ceremony then eases into its benediction with Raised up to Heaven, leaving a residue of well-being and hope for the Sci-Fi future. If you ever find yourself fed up with this ugly paradigm of mass psychosis, and feel the weight of impending doom pressing not-so-gently on your shoulders, put on Westward Cranial Expansion, turn out the lights, spark a fat one, and pray for the lovely end of it all. -nno
Strategy 2004, Kranky Records Chicago-based Kranky-- one of the best indie labels in the entire universe-- trades mostly in atmospheric, sometimes jazzy, experimentally-tinged, or quietly interesting fare. They put out indie big shots like Low and Godspeed You Black Emperor! along with lesser-known bands like the NW's Growing and Fontanelle. Portland-based Strategy-- solo project of DJ/laptop maestro, Emergency alum, and Nudge/Fontanelle collaborator Paul Dickow-- trades in airy layers, repetitive loops, and subtle rhythms. Live dub mixing and digital soundscaping combine on Drumsolo's Delight to create an entirely pleasant album. Pleasant isn't always what you're looking for in music, however, and it's hard not to be disappointed by the way Dickow quickly plunges brief moments of expert noise tweakage and unusual sound exploration into predictable, e-friendly fare. Final Super Zen establishes a base of minimalist hush, then seemingly incongruous beats with a hollow, wooden sound stagger around the reverb chamber. All too soon, they're swallowed up by standard-issue bleepy-bloopy noises and whorls of melodic repetition. A similar buildup pattern is repeated on many tracks; on Walkingtime, which features the vocals of CARO, it actually works, grabbing with emotional and melodic hooks lacking elsewhere. And Dickow's vague sketches transform into confident sculptures on album's dreamy closer, The Jazzy Drumsolo. Close listens turn up neat-o synthesized or sampled sweeps of sound, but they tend to be used in a generic background fashion. Half the album could be the easily-ignored soundtrack to an evening of drinking Piafs and gabbing with friends at Holocene; a shame, because the rest deserves the listener's full attention and a pair of top-notch speakers. -tlb
The Tuftees
2003, Sleepyhouse Records The opening riff of Pawlicker is, in essence, an ascending C major scale that leads into a C chord, G chord ballad type song, written as a kind of ode to aimlessness in lost love. In solidarity, the music meanders hither and yon, major to minor, never really taking you in its arms, planting one on your lips, looking you deep in your eyes and declaring its deepest devotion to your soul. And then the rest of the album happens much in the same manner. There are plenty of palatable tunes with catchy female/male, to-and-fro vocals but it doesn't ever pick up the steam of a full-fledged album. Not to say there aren't some really fine moments on Pawlicker. Track three, the Pixies-eque Tony, is an up tempo rocker, complete with super crunchy guitars and background hoots and hollers. It clocks in at just under two minutes and would sound great on a rock-n-roll compilation sandwiched in between Gigantic and Drain You. However, it's a Pawlicker anomaly. While some of the album feels well thought out and interestingly constructed (Tony, Mercury), a lot of it has that lazy front porch, let's go turn on the four-track feeling to it (Silentscape, Girl with Butterfly Wings). This album jumps around from those two styles of recording so much it's kind of dizzying. It doesn't feel unified or finished. The banjo, heard on selected songs, seems more like an afterthought and never really reaches a point of connection with the rest of the music. The guitars dance with each other in that high school prom sort of way: close, intimate and honest but awkward. John's off key, semi-spoken vocals at times dip into the realm of J. Mascus but is often distracting in its atonality. All in all, Pawlicker is like running around in the park on a Sunday afternoon because there is nothing better to do. The weather is slightly overcast but with the right color sunglasses it could almost look sunny. It's it a good frolic but at the end of the day you realize that not a lot got done and you still have homework to do. -sh
Truckless
2003, Self Released Cool man. I like these guys, though they should update their web-site. Songs that move along briskly with lots of catchy guitar riffage. Kind of a Replacements sound. Three songs no fuss, no muss, no filler to get bored with. Cute mini CD packaging. Shit, short album, short review, I'll make an effort to see them, and you should too. (Rhymes even) -nno For good or ill, Music Liberation Project has promised to review every local, commercially available cd, record or cassette sent to us. Band photos are not necessary, so save them for the big boys. Our address is on the staff page. |
