Radio Free Chicago

The Next Best Thing to Portlandia: Y La Bamba

Most recently the world has turned towards none other than Portland, be it through their penchant to put a bird on it or adult hide and seek leagues make it a refreshing mecca for creativity. Ok, I guess I should visit Portland first before taking the plunge, as Portlandia may not best represent the city (I hope so, it feels like a modern day Pleasantville).

Regardless, musicians abound in the city of VooDoo Doughnuts. One such group stole my accolades of best album of 2010 with Lupon. An album that stuns and moves you to the core from "Monster" to "Memories of a Poor Start", Y La Bamba created an adventure rooted in their singer/songwriter Luz Mendoza's upbringings as the daughter of Mexican immigrants. In a short time, it's hard not to find something to reflect upon, or bask in its folk beauty. Over at Mezzic, we had the chance to interview her in regards to something ending this weekend; their Kickstarter campaign to help fund their next album, Tragos Amargos. Here's what Luz had to say,

"This past year, even after Lupon, has made us eager. We have a genuine inspiration to record this next album. All these songs that we’ve written this last year are so special, so important, so fierce, that more than ever I feel it’s crucial for us to be sharp and give attention to this.

I’m broke. We’re all broke. But I’ve seen the camaraderie of everyone just trying to do the best they can, like taking the shirts literally of their backs to sell anything to make this record happen. We have a great support team; don’t get me wrong. Portland’s been awesome with people here bringing us on and helping us. That’s been nothing but nurturing. I can say that about Portland– give a shout out to Here."

How one can't not want to uproot, join or create such a community is starting to become beyond comprehension, especially after living up here in Madison for some time now after leaving Chicago. It's that nurturing, helpful atmosphere that needs to spread around not only in fictious towns but our fair Midwest. Y La Bamba's Kickstarter campaign ends tomorrow. If you take a shine to her music, help out.

People Covering Daniel Johnston Songs I Love.

 

Daniel Johnston - True Love Will Find You in the End

Beck -  True Love Will Find You in the End

M. Ward -  Story of an Artist

 

Bright Eyes -  Devil Town

 

Wiping Off The Dust: RFC Reviews Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

I feel incredibly banal writing this review, because it seems like anyone who’s even remotely interested in music has heard of In The Aeroplane Over The Sea before. According to besteveralbums.com it’s the 21st most critically acclaimed album of all time. Hipster bible pitchfork.com lists it as the fourth best album of the 90s. Try this, go to a place where hipsters hang out, approach one, and ask them what their favorite album is. If they’re a poser who doesn’t care about music, chances are they’ll say In The Aeroplane...

Sometime during 1994 Jeff Magnum along with high school friends William Cullen Heart and Bill Doss formed the band Olivia Tremor Control and released their first EP California Demise. Afterwards Magnum left the group and began sleeping on friends floors, unemployed. During this time he recorded four cassettes, Pygmie Barn In E Minor, Invent Yourself A Shortcake, Beauty, and Hype City Soundtrack under the name Milk. The cassettes were very advant garde and weird. Two of the tracks were just spoken conversations between Magnum and his friends.

In late 1994 Magnum and whoever was around him at the time recorded the four song EP Everything Is as Neutral Milk Hotel. Frankly, it sucks. Have you ever been to a museum and wandered through the modern art gallery, wondering if any of this shit is really art? Everything Is is the musical equivalent of that. Magnum only made fifty copies and they sold poorly.

In 1996 Magnum moved to Denver, Colorado where he recorded Neutral Milk Hotel’s first LP On Avery Island. At the time, Neutral Milk Hotel was composed of Magnum, The Apples In Stereo’s Robert Schneider, The Perry Weissman 3’s Rick Benjamin, and Secret Square’s Lisa Janssen. The album sold poorly and received mildly positive critical response.

After the release of On Avery Island, the Neutral Milk Hotel as most know them formed, featuring Magnum, Scott Spillane on horns, Jeremy Barnes on drums and organ, and Julian Koster on bass, banjo, and saw. From July through September 1997 they recorded In The Aeroplane... which was released February 10th, 1998. It sold poorly on its initial release and was met with mixed critical response. Critics would later change their negative reviews to postive ones.

Neutral Milk Hotel - The King Of Carrot Flowers Pt. One

The album opens with “King Of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1”. The song begins with a basic, folky acoustic guitar and Magnum's obscure vocals, slowly gaining intensity until Magnum’s voice is soaring above the explosion of horns, violin, and synth. The song depicts two violently fighting parents and an incestuous pair of siblings “learning what each others bodies are for”. Some parts of the song make no sense. What’s a carrot flower or a holy rattlesnake? Other parts, however, are far to clear. I’m sure many of us can relate to Mom “drinking until she was no longer speaking” and Daddy “dreaming of different ways to die”.

The album then seamlessly transitions into “King Of Carrot Flowers Pt. 2 & 3”.  Opening with an arpeggio guitar riff plucked over grainy synth chords. Magnum sings about how much he loves Jesus Christ. Fifty seconds in the song begins to increase in tempo, volume, and instrumentation, becoming more and more chaotic until it can be contained no longer and explodes at 1:40. All the while Magnum sings about floating “Inside my Mom inside a garbage bin”, and marrying a “dead dog singing and a synthetic flying machine”.

Neutral Milk Hotel - In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

 

The 74-Play Challenge: Shearwater's "Rooks"

I make no secret of the fact that Okkervil River  is my favorite band. In fact, I make no secret of the fact that I harbor what borders on an "unhealthy obsession" with Will Sheff and his Austin multi-instrumentalists. Given this information, it's only natural that  Shearwater holds a special place in my heart. Shearwater, formed alongside Okkervil River by Sheff and Jonathan Meiburg, eventually parted ways with Okkervil River (Although Meiburg is very much still a part of both bands, as evidenced on Okkervil River's latest release, Mermaid) to concentrate mainly on Shearwater. The bands are very much siblings and given the fact that there's not a single ounce of bad blood between Sheff and Meiburg, it makes it almost blasphemy to adore one of the bands and not the other.

Okkervil River has always, since my discovery of them five plus years ago, held the top spot in my heart. In recent months, however, I've delved into Shearwater's discography with a fervor that has lead to my love of Meiburg growing exponentially - Something that I didn't think was possible given the extreme, uh, lady-boner for Meiburg that I've harbored since I first saw pictures of him alongside Sheff in press photos for the masterpiece that was Okkervil River's Black Sheep Boy.

It was a Wednesday in February when how much I loved Shearwater finally hit me - My favorite part of the new Okkervil River b-side, "Walked Out On A Line"? Meiburg's inclusion. The records I'd been listening to most while lounging about or working in the kitchen? Shearwater's. In fact, the desire to hear Meiburg's powerful, otherworldly vocals had been growing inside of me for some time and so it was that I decided to embark upon another 74-Play Challenge, with my favorite Shearwater song, "Rooks".

Shearwater - Rooks

Listen One: I've probably listened to "Rooks" upwards of a thousand times since it's 2008 release. I remember the first time I heard it, being relatively unfamiliar with Shearwater as a band outside of it's Okkervil River connection. I had purchased Rook off Matador's website and gotten the record in the mail. I was in no rush to listen to it but I couldn't sleep that night so I decided to lay on my living room floor and listen to the band's latest offering. What I knew of their past work gave me the impression that the disc would lull me to sleep. With opening track "On The Death Of The Waters", that notion was dispelled but it was "Rooks" that made it certain I would get no sleep that night. "Rooks" opens with a guitar subtle and intricate, so haunting that it's impossible to ignore. Meiburg's voice, an instrument in and of itself, is at it's best here, perfectly conveying the mortality so deftly described in his lyrics. By the time Scott Brackett's crystalline trumpet comes in for the songs coup de gras, "Rooks" has woven a dark and lovely web around you. I listened to "Rooks" a number of times that night and nearly three years later, still often play it for people I've just met, as they have to hear that song, they just have to. I can't imagine a song I could stomach better 74 times in a row than this.

Kings of the New Sincerity: An Opening Volley

“Be Sincere.”

That’s it really, in a nutshell, distilled to its very essence. That is our simple entreaty, something held more vital than a manifesto, but not quite dogma.

It a sense, there’s not much to it, or at least not much concrete. There’s something about it, though, something compelling. Sincerity is one of those lovely little ideas both ultimately mutable and utterly inarguable. One can be sincere about almost anything, yet once you are, it is a statement of ultimate purpose and conviction. It’s a form of truth.

I’ll admit, the last few years have been a bit grim when it comes to finding sincerity, especially amongst the young, restless and hip. In an age where all the information and art that has ever existed is available on Youtube, the way a person interacts with the world changes. We have, as a culture, evolved in such a way that the young and savvy now have a built-in filter to keep from getting overwhelmed by the sheer volume, the torrents (not a coincidentally chosen word) of music and art and information that we are submerged in every day.

That filter is irony. That ironic detachment that keeps us at a distance, that keeps us abreast from the things we enjoy. Irony is the ultimate enslavement of culture; the idea that (with some intellectual finagling), you can enjoy and take part in something, no matter how ridiculous, offensive, insipid, or irrelevant, without it defining you. It’s a safety blanket, a pressure valve, and armor against critique.

I am, of course, avoiding the elephant in the room, that horrible, horrible word that gets tossed around so casually to describe the omnipresent cultural “other” that seems to occupy our periphery. The word everyone uses but no one want to be called. The word that is incredibly evocative and has specific cultural connotations, but few would ever profess to be.

I’m talking hipsters, kids. Stay with me.

The personality, the sense of self, is under siege by the insane volume of content, and so we embrace the avatar. That’s what “hipsters” are, real world avatars. That’s why, even though there is absolutely no debating that hipsters exist, they are never self-identified: no one would say they’re creating an alter ego through embracing specific cultural memes. But that’s what all the frumpy, ill-fitting sweaters, professed enjoyment of PBR, and ironic facial hair represent: the creation of the intellectualized, controlled “self” that is self-evident and well-defined.

Frankly, I find this tiresome. I imagine most do. It just seems like a lot of work, a grotesque distortion of the punk rock ethic of defining yourself in contrast to pop culture and somehow sanitizing it, making it safe. If culture is saturated with information with no real filter as to value, the hippest cat in the room is the one that embraces the most unlikeable, the most obscure, the most oblique aesthetic. Take crunk, chopped up and screwed grind beats, throw in a dash of Joy Division, a sample of "Ode To Joy," maybe a saxophone solo.  Don’t forget to overdrive the amps and lay on that endless reverb. Storm the offices of Pitchfork on a crack binge. Repeat as necessary. Yawn, motherfucker. Yawn. 

 Salem - King Night

What I find so exciting is that this repugnant, knee-jerk defense of the ego seems to ebbing in favor of… Sincerity. Be here now. As the familiar forms of distribution are getting outmoded by technology, culture is twisted and turning surprising ways, and music seems to be at the foreground of this change. Those of us who are observers and participants in the Midwest indie scene (whether its Chicago, or the new home for several of our contributors, Ann  Arbor, Michigan) have remarked that there’s something in the air, something palpable. You feel it at the shows by the local bands, some of them new, some of them scene stalwarts for years.

You can see it at work in the aesthetics of the bands we here at RFC have championed, both on a national and local level: Dawes, Blitzen Trapper, Local Natives, Okkerville River, the Tallest Man on Earth, Fleet Foxes, The Head and the Heart, Wye Oak, Timber Timbre, Lightning Love, Gun Lake, Matt Jones, and countless others. All these bands, while dramatically different from one another, seem to be eschewing the obscurity of the hip in favor of familiar sounds, lovely melodies, heartfelt lyrics, and often-acoustic instrumentation.

Dawes - Love Is All I Am

An RFC Mix: You are a dog chasing a car. What do you plan to do when you catch it?

This is a story.

A man and woman are walking down the street of a nameless suburban city. The air is filled with flakes of snow swirling around them as if inside a city-sized snow globe that’s being gently shaken. Their hands are clasped together as they make their way through the deserted cityscape. The stars are covered by the thick clouds that cast an orange glow through the sky. The falling snow dampens all noise save for the dull crunch of the snow under their feet. Their breath crystalizes and hangs in the air before being swept away by the wind.

“I have to tell you something.” She says.

“What is it?”

“I love you…”

He stops and smiles. “I love you too…”

“…but I can’t be with you.” Her interruption hangs in the air as thick as their breath. But it’s not being blown away. It just hovers in the air, stale as it stares Him down.

“I don’t understand. What are you saying?” His heart comes up through his throat. He chokes it back down.

“Listen to me. What we have is too beautiful. It’s too easy. We will get married and grow old and die side by side. This is not what you want.” Her statements fly out of her mouth like bullet points on a piece of paper. His stomach burns. “You want to be challenged. You’ve been chasing happiness as long as you can remember. This isn’t giving up. This is me giving you what you need. I’m leaving you. Now come find me.”

His head drops. He stares at their boots, and then closes his eyes. He was an expert at pretending to be sad. He brings his head back up to see nothing but falling snow. His eyes dart through the powder covered streets. Nothing but abandoned buildings and frost –covered windows. Where did she go? He spots a flicker of red out of his peripheral vision. It has to be her coat. He takes off, faster than he even thought He could move. He flys down an alleyway, turning a corner and loses his footing. The pain he should have felt when he slammed against the ground didn’t register. His heart is pumping like pistons in an engine. Adrenaline is flowing through his body like electricity through power lines. He smells her perfume as he picks himself up and follows the curving of the alley. He feels alive. He has purpose again.

This is a story of forever chasing something that you aren’t even sure exists. It's a story about following memories and tailing ghosts in the night. These are the songs for the tired traveler who just isn't ready to stop moving yet.

Sunset Rubdown You Go On Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)

You go on ahead for a while. I would like to just follow you a while.

Unbunny - Nothing Comes To Rest

Nothing comes to rest on the chest of those always running. And in this life I have been blessed by the starcrossed maps that kept me moving.

Built to Spill - Made-up Dreams

No one wants to hear what you dreamt about unless you dreamt about them

Stairway To Zeppelin: One Skeptic's Journey To Fandom (Part Two)

Led Zeppelin II

Whole Lotta Love: Led Zeppelin’s sophomore album opens with the bass and guitar repeating the same catchy riff over and over. When Plant’s vocals begin occasionally Page’s guitar will buzz in and out like a lazy bee. Around 1:30 things slow down for some random psychedelia while Bonham solos. It’s annoying and distracting. I’m sure it’s supposed to represent sex or something. When Page’s guitar does his buzz thing again with an added whine this time, I feel like punching him out. Fortunately at 3 minutes Page decides to use his guitar for good and lays down a short, melodic solo. After the solo, the song resumes the pre-psychedelia tempo for a little bit before launching into a far too melodramatic breakdown. The song ends with Plant doing some weird vocal echos while the guitar, bass, and drums beat the signature riff like a dead horse. Now I know “Whole Lotta Love” is one of the most important hard rock songs of all time and whatnot, but honestly, apart from the catchy riff, it’s annoying and obnoxious. The psychedelia and two breakdowns detract from what would otherwise be a concise, kick-ass rock song. It drags on far too long, and by the time it’s over the hooky riff has wormed it’s way into your skull so deep you’re eager to hear the next track to flush it out. I’m not impressed.

What Is And What Should Never Be: One thing Zeppelin doesn’t do well is slow songs. Robert Plant doesn’t have the voice and Zeppelin’s instrumentals are boring otherwise. Much like “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You”, “What Is And What Should Never Be” alternates between soft balladry and in-your-face rock ‘n’ roll, and just like before, it doesn’t work well. To make things worse, during the slow sections Plant feels the need to distort his voice to the point where he sounds like someone with down syndrome trying to sing underwater. Near the end Page’s guitar alternates between your left and right ear. At first it’s fun in a gimmicky way but quickly loses its charm. Once again, I’m not impressed.

The Lemon Song: Finally this album begins to show some promise. Page’s riff is the perfect balance between blues and rock. However, the real highlight here is John Paul Jones, who’s clearly showing off. At 1:30 things speed up and Page breaks out a jangly, weird sounding solo that becomes melodic as time goes on. Eventually the song resumes the riffs and tempo it established at the beginning. Halfway through the song Bonham and Page get real quiet so Jones can take center stage. Plant’s vocals are annoying as usual, but the innuendo of the song combined with Jones virtuosity is so distracting you don’t notice. During the last thirty seconds of the song, the band speeds up for a rather anti-climactic ending. “The Lemon Song” is a bit long and repetitive, but thankfully John Paul Jones bass improvisation makes the length worth it. It’s not a bad song, but it’s not spectacular either. So far Led Zeppelin II is a let down. Let’s hope the next track doesn’t continue the trend.

Thank You: Led Zeppelin II’s fourth track opens with quiet guitar plucking and organ playing. Finally Zeppelin manages to do a slow ballad right. Plant sings with dynamics and range appropriate to his voice. Page’s guitar is pretty, but the real highlight is John Paul Jones organ playing. Page’s guitar solo halfway through is very mellow and unobtrusive. The song switches dynamics between whisper soft and mezzo forte, but maintains intensity throughout. It’s a very pretty song. Exactly the opposite of what you would expect from Led Zeppelin. The song fades out early, tricking you into believing it’s ended before playing again for two seconds and then ending for real. I’m not sure what the point of the faux fade out was. It doesn't add anything. Overall, “Thank You” is a stand out track not only for Led Zeppelin II but also for Led Zeppelin’s discography. Proving that the heaviest band making music during the sixties also knew how to be gentle.   

Heartbreaker: Finally! One of the few Zeppelin songs I liked before starting these reviews. “Heartbreaker” is not only the definitive Led Zeppelin riff but also contains one of the greatest guitar solos in rock ‘n’ roll history. Bonham and John Paul Jones are no slouches either, and Plant’s vocals don’t movie beyond his capabilities, which is pleasant. Page’s stand alone solo starts slow and eccentric, then gradually builds speed and complexity until it reaches a boiling point. After a solid thirty seconds of soloing, Bonham and John Paul Jones join in while Page continues to solo. Eventually Plant joins for the last thirty seconds of the song before the track abruptly ends. I’m not familiar with the final four tracks of Led Zeppelin II, so perhaps another track will prove to be better than “Heartbreaker”, but I doubt it. So for now, I’ll make the bold assumption that “Heartbreaker” is the magnum opus of Led Zeppelin’s 1960’s discography. Will the next track be able to carry the torch?

Heartbreaker - Led Zeppelin

Republic Of Lights, An RFC Interview

  Musicianship does not require sunglasses, Jonas Brothers’ good looks or sexy dance moves, although it doesn’t hurt to have such blessings...

The challenge in keeping up with a band of men, and a lady (who is not on bass), is to keep their undivided attention. Because, well, let’s face it bright lights and loud clashes doesn’t faze a rocking crew... and it always helps to know that the band whose music makes you swoon is simply a few kind, genuine and interesting friends just doing what they love. Republic Of Lights is
Alan, front man with the smoldering eyes of a young teeny-bop’s sex dream... who can- if you convince him to take off the shades- sit down and have a dignified conversation and rock out on guitar and belt out some ballads.
There is Brian, the soft, persuasively sarcastic guitarist and hilarious pup that can really shred it up on stage...
Greg, the keyboardist with fabulous fashion sense and a sweet smile and
Rosie math-minded music babe with sweltering guitar chops to spare

Okkervil River Continues To Be Perfect and Awesome, Brings Jonathan Meiburg Along For The Ride

I wasn't very excited for the release of Okkervil River's latest 12", Mermaid. Well, okay, I was very excited. But let's get something straight: If an Okkervil River song doesn't send me into a conniption fit that would make any outside observer think I was having a nervous breakdown so severe that I was a danger to both myself and others, I'm not "very excited". Using that grading scale, I'd say I was "moderately anxious" for the release of Mermaid. A lot of this probably has to do with the fact that, obsessive about the band as I am, I'd heard the title track to Okkervil River's latest 12", before. That didn't make it any less lovely but it did make me slightly bored with the idea that the first "new Okkervil River" I'd heard in almost three years was a song I'd already known quite thoroughly. It's nice to have "Mermaid" on an official release but what has really captivated me about Mermaid is the b-side, "Walked Out On A Line".

"Walked Out On A Line" is a song that first made it's appearance at some of Will Sheff's solo New York shows last year, which, naturally, I swooned over on RFC. Given the questionable quality of the video that was floating around, I never gave the song all that much of a chance, choosing instead to wait until the latest Okkervil River album, I Am Very Far, neared completion on a more cohesive version of "Walked Out On A Line" came into existence for my consumption.

 

Okkervil River - Walked Out on a Line

 

I first heard "Walked Out On A Line" in it's studio incarnation while sitting in my living room, after purchasing it completely legally (Just kidding, my savior Bill Baker, he of much awesomeness, sent it to me. Sharing is caring, kids!) and consuming more than a bit of wine. Immediately, I was in love. Musically, it wasn't what I expected and almost made me worry that the forthcoming I Am Very Far will be more mechanical and psychadelic than organic and singer-songwriter-esque, something that tends to taint music as a whole for me, but... Well, it's Okkervil River. I can't not love it. Out of the band's entire discography, b-sides and rarities included, there is one song I don't like. One. One out of 174. So of course I was fated to love "Mermaid" and it's counterpart, both fraught with cinematic lyrics about "the devil all dinged up and dragonfly winged-up", paried with Sheff's signature vocals, which are at turns pleadingly unhinged and beautifully crooned. What took me aback, however, was what made me actually love "Walked Out On A Line". You see, it wasn't Will Sheff at all. It was Jonathan Meiburg.

Meiburg, for those who don't know, was Sheff's right hand man in Okkervil River for years until he left to concentrate fully on Shearwater, a band originated by Meiburg and Sheff years prior. Meiburg has a remarkably powerful voice, orchestral and ethereal, and even if Shearwater's music isn't your thing, you still have to admit that Meiburg's voice has a soul shaking tone that is the audible equivalent of thunder and lightning. Even so, I never warmed fully to Meiburg until hearing him in Shearwater, maintaining the opinion that his voice just didn't mesh well with Sheff's.

The absence of Meiburg in Okkervil River, however, is noticeable. It's not noticably bad, per se. It's just noticably different. Okkervil River without the accordion skills and lilting background vocals of Meiburg is sort of like going to a family reunion and not seeing your favorite second cousin. Sure, they're just your second cousin so it makes sense they're not there and all your immediate family is there but man, it sure would be nice to see that second cousin and "Walked Out On A Line" is a beautiful example of just what wonder Meiburg brings to the band.

I don't know about you but I could listen to Meiburg yowl about black blood all night.

I Am Very Far comes out May 10th - And you know what else is on the way? An Okkervil River documentary. That's fact. Tell your pals.

Wiping Off The Dust: RFC Reviews Pavement's Slanted and Enchanted

Discovering your favorite band in high school is just as important and meaningful as choosing your group of friends. Besides providing catharsis for all those teenage hormone fueled emotions, it’s about discovering and expressing yourself. Even the high school jocks have a favorite band, and it means as much to them as yours does to you.

The stereotypical music obsessive is underweight, weak, nerdy, and emotionally scarred. They’re people that feel different from everybody else. Most rock stars began their lives as the kids who always got picked on. They turned to music to either provide a release for their pent up emotions or to get the girl and become popular, sometimes both.

Typically the music obsessives first band is something angry and violent that will piss off their parents. Virtually all music, everything from The Beatles to Bob Dylan to The Clash to Black Flag, is written by and for pissed off youth. Teenage angst has been the driving force behind music since the jazz explosion of the 1920s.

If Nirvana had existed ten years earlier they would have been just another underground indie band who ran their own label and toured by spending days crammed into a cheap van and nights sleeping on strangers floors. Instead they existed in the right place at the right time. Thanks to Kurt Cobain’s sexy looks and catchy hooks, MTV, and an incredibly tight rhythm section, Nirvana became the biggest band the world had seen since The Beatles. Teenagers across the world hailed Cobain as a god. Much like Bob Dylan’s The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan turned him into the unwitting face of the early ‘60s, Nirvana’s Nevermind turned Cobain into the spokesman of the early ‘90s. And just like Dylan, Cobain loathed the title.

Part of what made Cobain so appealing was how much adults detested him. He was constantly strung out on heroin, rarely bathed, and his music was simplistic. Teenage girls fantasized about bearing his children while teenage boys learned the guitar riff to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and pretended to know what the lyrics were.

Every teenager in America, from the geeks to the football players to the cheerleaders to the stoners loved Nirvana, and that’s exactly why Pavement became so popular and critically acclaimed. Halfway through my sophomore year Radiohead became my favorite band and stayed that way throughout high school. While my peers were listening to The Strokes, Arcade Fire, and Coheed and Cambria, I had Radiohead all to myself. They helped define me as an individual, and it was a great feeling.

Pavement’s debut LP Slanted and Enchanted kicks off with a screech. Scott Kanberg’s guitar lick on album opener “Summer Babe (Winter Version)” cuts through the lo-fi noise like a gunshot through your eardrums. Second track “Trigger Cut/Wounded Kite at :17” continues Pavement's signature piercing guitar, sloppy, minimalistic drumming/percussion, and basic bass riffs. God only knows what Malkmus is singing about. Yet, he has a gift for making you feel in your heart he’s singing about something important. Third track “No Life Singed Her” opens with Malkmus screaming like he got his hand caught in a toaster before launching into one of the dirtiest, sloppiest, most lively lo-fi pop rock songs written before or since. “No Life Singed Her” is a mere two minutes, but it hits you so hard and fast it feels like one. The first twenty seconds of fourth track “In The Mouth A Desert” opens with the band playing languid and slow before launching into a steady, gritty, lo-fi groove. The next four tracks on Slanted and Enchanted pleasantly assault your ears like Mike Tyson jabs, none of them exceeding the three minute mark.

Pavement - No Life Singed Her

Stairway To Zeppelin: One Skeptic's Journey To Fandom (Part One)

For those of you that don’t know, I was a hipster in high school. By the time I was a senior, my musical criticism was legendary. It was the butt of jokes. Some people were offended by it, others respected it.

At the time I was friends with two guys who owned a music store. The majority of my taste came from them. They introduced me to Okkervil River, The Smiths, Jeff Buckley, The Hold Steady, The Mountain Goats, and Joy Division to name a few.

Nothing pissed me off more than the kids who listened to classic rock and mouthed off about how all post seventies music sucked. I took every opportunity I got to argue with them about great modern music. My rivalry with them was so intense I found it impossible to enjoy anything that got played on a classic rock station.

Fast forward to the summer of 2010. I was no longer a hipster and beginning to really enjoy classic rock. I was a big fan of Hendrix, Dylan, and The Beatles. I was constantly driving in my car, and my radio dial was permanently stuck on the classic rock station. I listened to it so religiously within seconds of a song being played I could name it and the artist.

Just about every band I bashed in high school I now enjoyed with one exception: Led Zeppelin. As far as I was concerned, Rolling Stone had them pegged back in the late sixties. Sure they had a few good songs (Rock ‘N’ Roll, Immigrant Song, Heartbreaker), but they were wildly overrated. I didn’t understand why nearly everyone worshiped them.

However, I want to change that. I consider myself to be a very open minded person now. You name it, I listen to it. Country, jazz, techno, ska, classical, rap, pop, reggae, soul, funk, metal, punk, gospel, blues, and of course my beloved rock ‘n’ roll. Perhaps a little bit of my high school hipster is still lingering in my brain somewhere, refusing to let me appreciate Zeppelin for what they have to offer.

So to combat that and prove once and for all if Zeppelin are gods or hacks, I’m going to listen to Zeppelin’s six critically acclaimed albums (Led Zeppelin, Led Zeppelin II, Led Zeppelin III, Led Zeppelin IV, Houses Of The Holy, and Physical Graffiti. Presence, In Through The Out Door, and Coda are widely considered to be mediocre at best even by die-hard fans.), and review them track by track. I assure you I’m leaving personal bias out of the equation. I want to like Led Zeppelin. Will I become a fan? Only one way to find out. Time to rock ‘n’ roll!

Led Zeppelin


Good Times, Bad Times: The first thing that stands out when you spin Led Zeppelin’s debut album is John Bonham’s drumming. Unlike most modern metal bands, it’s very rhythmic. Every member of the band is featured equally. Jimmy Page’s solo pales in comparison to Hendrix and Clapton, but it’s still compelling nonetheless. None of the riffs are overly catchy, but they’ve still got that traditional rock and roll pulse. Amid all the rhythm, soloing, and shrieking John Paul Jones bass riffs are both easily audible and the highlight of the song. I’ve never been a fan of Robert Plant’s vocals, but they aren’t annoying me here. I really dig this song. Good Times, Bad Times has set the bar fairly high. Hopefully, the rest of the album can compare.

Good Times, Bad Times - Led Zeppelin

RFC Thinks You Should Know...Lizzie Huffman

  Steve (my fiancée, for those not in the know) walks in the door with one of those familiar  
skinny white boxes from Vinyl Collective, and my tastes are expanded once again thanks to the acumen of Suburban Home Records. Suburban Home is a hard-working, small label with a lot of grit and damn good taste; they’re responsible for the unearthing of bands like Two Cow Garage and Kay Kay and His Weathered Underground, as well as for releasing the solo efforts of Lagwagon’s Joey Cape and Drag The River’s Jon Snodgrass. One of the guys’ most recent acquisitions is none other than the fetching little sis of Kay Kay’s Kirk Huffman, Lizzie Huffman.

I’m fuzzy on Huffman’s back story beyond the obvious fact that her parents deserve a lifetime of high fives for deciding to bear offspring, but what I do know about her is that she is a Seattle-based singer-songwriter with one solo album on her resume: 2010’s Lizzie Huffman and Her Brother Band. That’s right, Kay Kay fans – brother Kirk plays and records with Huffman.

Huffman’s southern-fried folk-pop is perhaps a bit counterintuitive to her West Coast roots, and so well contrived you’d expect to find her kicking up her boots in Nashville. The first moment the record player needle spun over Huffman’s voice, I was honestly blown away. She soulfully and magnetically vocalizes woebegone tales of passion, nerves and infatuation that are plaintive yet conversely empowering. Huffman’s Etta James-esque delivery is laid down amongst a mix of folksy instrumentation like a pair of misfit lovers, but the genre-bending seems genuine and even contemporary.

I tentatively considered submitting this piece on Huffman to RFC’s Love for the Ladies column instead, seeing as Miss Lizzie is such a looker. She is doe-eyed and petite, yet her short black hair, sleeve of tattoos and air of being one of the guys lend a certain kind of alluring edginess. Fellow RFC-er Matthew Voracek claimed in an earlier post that the male writers have a soft spot for ladies with “steely confidence, a gale-wind musical force and all attitude” and who appear on stage “sweaty with an unattainability.” Well boys, I think I have a candidate for you.

There’s so very much to love about Huffman’s lyricism, as well. Admissions of lust (“And every time you come around, your pants get tighter and tattoos just a bit brighter, I’m a mess again, ‘Cause I just want you all over me”) sidle into deeper confessions of longing and personal drama, and the kinds of tunes I wish I knew the story behind (“I’m sure that when her face hit the stairs you weren’t thinking of how much you love me, I’m sure that when her blood ran like tears you weren’t thinking of me like you should”) on “A Night in the Country” and “Heavy Hearts,” respectively.

A Night in the Country - Lizzie Huffman and Her Brother Band

There’s little more of Huffman to be easily found out in the internet universe as of yet, though she can also be found in some widely viewed YouTube videos alongside Forgiving Durden and in older recordings from her former work in the band Man in the Blue Van. One can only hope she’ll churn out more in the near future, but I deeply encourage you to pick up her release from Suburban Home in the meantime.

NPR Unveils Timber Timbre's Latest

I've waxed poetic before on how much I adore Taylor Kirk, the man behind Canada's best band (Sorry, Arcade Fire), Timber Timbre. And as the date for Creep On Creepin' On, Kirk's latest Timber Timbre opus, approaches, NPR helps prove just how true "Canada's Best Band" accolades are for the band. Today, All Songs Considered unveiled "Black Water", the first song from Creep On Creepin' On, and it seems to show Kirk not at his darkest as one might assume given his past releases but instead at his catchiest.

From the opening notes of "Black Water", it's apparent that Kirk has more soul than he knows what to do with. As NPR says, you listen to "Black Water" and "think Sam Cooke at his most frustrated." The results are a straight up jam, a timeless song featuring the cinematicly frightful lyrics we've come to expect from Kirk with an unexpected musical backdrop.

Listen to "Black Water" here.

Charlene Kaye: Brilliant Tunes

The Charlene Kaye and the Brilliant Eyes EP reminds me of an amazingly fresh and peppy performance in a high school talent show. I listen to Kaye, a University Michigan School of Music alum, not to lament in disgruntlement so much as to brighten my mood. (Yes, music is good for that too.)

“Oh Howard,” a song which playfully traverses a crush Kaye has on an older professor, has a catchy, almost “Crocodile Rock” – like, vibe. The transitions between various instruments taking the melodic lead are so smooth, they are barely noticeable.

These graceful style and instrumental transitions consistently drive important lyrical phrases and subjects. A jazzy piano riff spurts just after the line, “I'm not looking at the paintings/ I know that it's wrong/ Cause I hear he's got a kid and a wife.”

The sound of a large, almost theatrical, chorus is another striking touch amidst groovy Elton John-esque piano parts.

  While people have balked and sung about student - teacher crushes throughout history, Kaye narrates her feelings from a more mature and humorous perspective. She certainly doesn’t take herself too seriously, a trait I always respect.

“Strike a Chord” delves into the situation of possibly liking someone but feeling leery of starting another romantic endeavor after retaining scars from a previous one.  I can’t say I haven’t been there, heard that (yawn.) Although, I must say, hearing Kaye belt out about it is…fun!  

I love how background singers interject her lyrics with rhythmic musical phrases (i.e. ba-da-ba) reminiscent of 1060’s popular rock. This style resonates throughout most of her songs. Not to mention, the guitar interlude reminds me of that in The Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night.”

“Mad Tom of Bedlam (Robber’s Ball Remix)” tells of a British folklore character from the Bethlem Mental Hospital, nicknamed Bedlem, released to fend for himself as a beggar. 

Charlene Kaye -  Mad Tom of Bedlam (Robber's Ball Remix)

When Is It Appropriate To Call A Work Of Art "Passionate"?

I hate it when people label music as “passionate”. As someone who’s creatively inclined, I can assure you that if you create something for free and put effort into promotion and distribution, you care deeply about it.

Yet, there is a big difference between, say, Rage Against The Machine and The Rocket Summer. I was lucky enough to see Bryce Avary during his Of Men And Angels tour. He played his heart out and brought the house down. However, had it been a music festival and Rage Against The Machine was one stage over, I wouldn’t have hesitated to abandon Bryce.

What is it that separates them? Both are very skilled musicians and put on energetic live shows. Their only real difference, besides genre, is that Rage Against The Machine is politically focused, whereas Bryce’s goal is to appeal to as many people as possible.

Writing pop music is harder than it sounds. After all, at the end of the day, The Beatles were essentially a pop band. Part of what makes Bryce so skilled is he makes his craft look easy. On the other hand, Rage Against The Machine puts just as much time, energy, and care into their songs.

Ultimately, the difference is Bryce’s objective is to entertain while Rage Against The Machine wants to change the world. Rage Against The Machine’s goal is something that is bigger than themselves. If Bryce works hard and gets what he wants, he becomes famous. If Rage Against The Machine work hard and get what they want, the world is slightly more peaceful than it was yesterday.

Yesterday - The Beatles

What people forget about The Beatles is that they didn’t become The Beatles until they started writing something other than pop songs. Had The Beatles never taken that first step with “Nowhere Man”, if they didn’t launch the counterculture with “Tomorrow Never Knows”, if they didn’t pray for peace in “Let It Be”, all they would have managed to accomplish is write some very popular songs and influence pop music styles. In other words, they wouldn’t be the most critically acclaimed band of all time. Becoming a part of something larger than their own success is a big part of what separates them from other bands.

Let It Be - The Beatles

Passion is more than caring deeply about what you do. It’s the difference between the ad executive and the struggling playwright, J. K. Rowling and Phillip K. Dick, The Roots and Kanye West, The Wire and CSI: Miami. Passion is what makes great art special. It’s why the modern art exhibit leaves the museum and the Van Gogh stays. Now if only more artists cared about something other than money.