Tag Archives: New Releases

Meah!/Phantom Family Halo split 7″ (Sophomore Lounge)

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(Both covers of the Meah!/Phantom Family Halo split from the Sophomore Lounge web site, http://sophomoreloungerecords.com.)

Normally when one thinks of happenin’ musical hotspots, I’m pretty sure that Jeffersonville, Indiana doesn’t come to mind. Right across the Second Street Bridge over the Ohio River from Louisville, Jeffersonville has a sort of sleepy reputation, not possessing notable attractions nearby such as the Horseshoe Casino (just west of New Albany, aka Portland North) or even the Theatair X (that’s further north, in Clarksville). Yet Jeffersonville’s Sophomore Lounge Records is worth paying attention to, and not just for the eventuality that J’ville becomes the next music mecca.

Okay, just kidding. SL were nice enough to send their latest release, a split 7″ between Chicago-based Meah! and Louisville’s Phantom Family Halo. Now as a rule, I’m not a huge fan of split singles, as they’re usually not long enough a format for either band to express much. Honestly, I’m not big on split releases of any format in general. But this single gives a good impression of what to expect from either band (even though the PFH side is a cover of the Red Crayola‘s “Hurricane Fighter Plane.”)

That said, the impression I get of Meah!, with their two short songs on the first side of the split, isn’t particularly positive. While the trio definitely has instrumental skills, the first song “Kids/Summer” is probably a bit too wacky for my tastes. Second song “Mystics” brings Meah! into a little bit more acceptable territory, only by being close to a 1980s funk/punk style (think Minutemen or Big Boys, just not quite as good). Overall, though, I have to give them an A for effort, even if I wasn’t super-into it.

Being a huge fan of the Red Crayola, as well as appreciative of Phantom Family Halo, I didn’t know what exactly to expect of their B-side. “Hurricane Fighter Plane,” from the RC’s debut album The Parable of Arable Land, is probably their most iconic song, having been covered by numerous other bands. However, I wasn’t let down by Dom Cipola’s interpretation of a classic. There’s enough reverential space here to classify as a worthy version, plus a changed chord and excellent guitar work (by guest Benny Clark of the Broken Spurs) shows plenty of inventiveness to keep me interested.

Limited to 500. Order it from Sophomore Lounge here: http://sophomoreloungerecords.com/meahpfhsplit.html.

Ones/Hands, 1997-2005 (White Tapes) CD

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So my friend Russ Waterhouse has been running the high-quality, low-quantity White Tapes label off and on for years through various mysterious Brooklyn-located apartments, and 2005 has seen a re-birth of this ongoing concern. One of this year’s new ones is the collaboration CD by Ones and Hands, two American noisy units obscure by even most obscurists’ standards. Having only seen Ones in action, I feel confident in describing their modus operandi as officially awesomely weird: two dudes, crouching low over tables full of tiny objects, make atonal rattly creaky drony soft and oddly compelling noises. I’m assuming they’re responsible for most of those-type sounds on the disc, whereas I assume Hands provides the sweetly melodic guitar and drones that drift in and out, like the sounds of the street outside an open window. The combination of disparate elements makes this CD a fun time for fans of inscrutability, audio-style. Highly recommended.

More entries on White Tapes stuff forthcoming.

CORRECTION MAY 12: Ok, thanks to the benevolent stranger in the comments box, I learned that Hands is actually Hands To, aka Jeph Jerman. I think maybe Russ told me this but I forgot it. Whoops. And Nick from Ones plays the sweet guitar, so that’s good to know.

Wooden Wand & the Vanishing Voice, Supplication Jam (Chrondritic Sound) 3″CD

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WWVV as they are known for brevity’s sake are a part-Brooklyn, part-Knoxville jam unit who bring the psychedelic cosmic debris for ya dome in a heavy way here. Supplication Jam (For Greh) is made up of some serious noises, starting with some straight-outta-Tangiers flute action and going all the way to liquid guitar bonk and bullhorn vocal scrape-age. Don’t look for longevity, though Chrondritic Sound‘s 3″CD is made with shorty playing times in mind. But that’s fine; the petite length in time is perfect for a taste of WWVV’s head medicine.

FULL DISCLOSURE: James and Jessica from WWVV are real nice folx, and I booked a Hive Mind (Greh) show once.

FROG EYES, THE FOLDED PALM (ABSOLUTELY KOSHER) CD

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The Victoria, B.C. band Frog Eyes presents listeners with a pretty heavy proposition: can you deal with lead singer Carey Mercer’s absolutely histrionic vocal style long enough to hear the music as a whole, and to grasp what he’s singing? It’s probably a tough job for the average joe, which is not to say it’s not somewhat rewarding. I’m not a huge fan of the narrative, or the meta, or even that much elliptical stuff in rock lyrics anymore. These days I think I just want simplicity. But there’s something about this record by Frog Eyes that makes me re-think my position, even though I’m not poring over the lyric sheet. Carey Mercer’s vocals make this stuff seem pretty damn urgent so maybe he’s not Iggy, but that’s all right. But like any band with their own distinct sense of style, it’s not going to be for everybody.

EFTERKLANG, TRIPPER (LEAF) CD

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Is it me, or is just about everything outta Europe some sorta twee stuff these days? I mean, even the grime stuff I’ve heard had an unbearable Paddington Bear quality to it, underneath a thin veneer of tough. What happened? Isn’t this the same continent that basically brought us two world wars, not to mention Scandinavian death metal? Where’s the frenzy, the brutality, the stupidity?

Efterklang’s this ten-piece band from Denmark, home of the l’il mermaid and some of the twee-est shit in Europe. Then again, they also got Lars Von Trier so I’ll give ’em a break (The Idiots ain’t twee, at least not all the way through). And really, there isn’t anything wrong with attempting to attain the beautiful, if it’s well done. Which this record is, if anything.

To these ears Efterklang definitely falls on Satie’s conception of “sonic wallpaper,” which ain’t an insult (even though I don’t think that’s what they’re shooting for). Which is to stay, this stuff, with its strings and choruses and gentle electronics and whatnot, is either easily ignorable or strikingly beautiful. Since I’m not a curmudgeon all of the time, I’ll give Tripper a pass.

PANICSVILLE, PERVERSE (LIQUID DEATH/HELLO PUSSY) CD

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Panicsville’s Andy Ortmann has been doing his thing for quite some time now, and he doesn’t care if you like it or not. No matter whether “noise” gets heralded in some dumb mainstream magazine by some clueless chump, no matter whether Panicsville gets a mention or a photo, I take solace in the fact that Ortmann will do what he wants regardless of what others think.

And the cool thing is it’s not easy to know what to think about Perverse, with its varied electronics and other instrumentation, water and cash register sounds, and sinister drones. I’d seen Panicsville a bunch of times when I lived in Chicago, in different incarnations, and the only real constant thread through all of the performances (other than them usually consisting of Ortmann and one or more co-conspirators) is that there’s no constant thread, no easy way to categorize what’s going on. This recording is similar, we’ve got a range of styles (though all sort of classifiable as challenging, in a sense), and a bunch of ways to interpret what we’re hearing. A cast of notables such as Kevin Drumm, MV Carbon (Metalux), Thymme Jones (Cheer-Accident), Weasel Walter (Flying Luttenbachers) and others add to the bewildering texture of sounds, but it’s clearly Ortmann who runs the show. And that’s fine with me.

RTX, Transmaniacon (Drag City)

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My history with Royal Trux is a long and strange one. Right about the time Cats & Dogs came out, and I saw them open for Sonic Youth, I was in high school, and in the midst of probably the most wide-open time a kid can have for discovering music. Here was this band that both live and on record was totally shambolic, occasionally hellacious or pretty, depending on whatever mood they felt like putting across. I remember standing front and center, watching them, being totally bewildered by Jennifer Herrema’s uncompromising and confrontational stage presence: black Oakland Raiders jacket, platform tennis shoes, hair over eyes, and hand over crotch. That her partner Neil Hagerty generally exuded the opposite, a weird aloofness that sometimes obscured how fucking intense a guitarist he is, made it all the more confusing for me, then a pretty dumb teenager.

Over the years I checked out more Trux live shows, heard records, but there was something that still bewildered me, even though I started to get it. And then, in 2001 it all fell apart. Neil and Jennifer split, the Trux was over, broken up by the difficulties they always were rumored to have with drugs, perfect gossip fodder. At least, that’s what we thought.

While Neil has continued to make incredible music under his own name, it wasn’t really clear what Jennifer would do, or even if she’d be able to continue making music. Let’s face it, rock is still stuck in the realm of the sexist past; even for the most politically progressive rock fan it’s easy to assume that, in a male-female creative partnership, the dude does the heavy lifting. This is a whole ‘nother can of worms I ain’t gonna open.

So here it is, Transmaniacon, the first we’ve heard from Herrema in a few years, under the RTX moniker. And despite there being no Neil to be heard, continuity with the Trux years is evident. Yet at the same time, RTX is its own magnificent beast. Put simply, this is the best rock album I’ve heard in years, and stands up to any of the best Royal Trux material.

How’s that, you say? Well Neil and Jennifer always had an awesome way with production, and RTX continues that while taking off in a different style. Transmaniacon, as you could probably guess by the Blue Oyster Cult-ish title and butterfly skulls artwork, is a heavy metal record but it’s produced like a modern pop record (which was Neil and Jennifer’s secret strength: everything they did seemed influenced by pop radio, in the most brilliantly non-obvious ways). This record might be the first time a rock band has used computer production in a blatant and totally psychedelic way. We got crazy auto tuned vocals; layers of clipped, thumping drums; Jaimo Welch’s bizarre and twisted guitar riffs and leads and it all works through the force of its own internal logic. This music is perfect, from “Stoked” to “Low Ass Mountain Song” to the ending number “Resurrect” (whose coda sounds like Nicks/Buckingham-era Fleetwood Mac on speedballs).

Last week, I was driving down a mountain in New Mexico, in my dad’s pickup truck. The sun was shining bright in the west, about an hour before sundown; the air was warm and crisp. I rolled down the windows, blasted Transmaniacon, and entered a state of perfect bliss. I can’t think of a more important function for a rock band to achieve.