The first release on Glorious Noise Records, Taro Sound by Quasar Wut-Wut, is finally available on iTunes! It’s still, of course, also available on cd.
Decemberists – The Engine Driver
“The Engine Driver” by the Decemberists from Picaresque. Courtesy of Kill Rock Stars.
Universal Music Group Video Policy
One more nail in the major label’s coffin…
Will they end up going out of business before they learn how to use technology for their own benefit? Are they really this dense?
Ralph Malph’s 1976 Record
Empty-Handed discovers a 1976 Donny Most (a/k/a Ralph Malph) album and offers up an mp3 of “Hey Baby.” Bad music, indeed.
Benchley: Meet the Label
The Letters of Gary Benchley, Rock Star: Meet the Label. Are the acoustics to blame when some executive’s fancy stereo makes your demo sound like mush, or was it really mush in the first place?
Black Lipstick – Grandma Airplane
“Grandma Airplane” by Black Lipstick courtesy of Insound. From the album Sincerely, Black Lipstick (Peek-A-Boo).
Mountain Goats prepare tour-only vinyl LP
The Mountain Goats are preparing a limited-edition vinyl version of their new album, The Sunset Tree (due April 25 on 4AD), featuring “home-recorded versions of most of the songs and a few LP-only adult-contemporary love jams.” Update!
The OC: Sandford & Son
Yes, people change—but not on a dime. Over the past couple of weeks I was afraid the writers of the O.C. had lost their balls and caved in to the clichés of TV drama. I mean, we had the White Devil finding his inner Ward Cleaver after a heart attack and vowing to adopt his heretofore illegitimate daughter Lindsey; then we had Super Husband Sandy Cohen getting his groove on with a dime store Patty Hearst, this from the man who got all Barry White in front of all of Newport at the Bait Shop on his anniversary; the eternally love-sick Seth Cohen accepting the loss of his one true love to his comic book buddy; and of course the once Ham Fisted Chino now all bookish and sissied up and…well, that hasn’t changed.
As Travis Bickel said in Taxi Driver, “One day a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets.” Okay, it wasn’t that dramatic, but the rain was falling in Newport and it did wash away a lot of the bullshit that’s built up over the last few episodes. It also made for a particularly fruity bit of flirtation between Cohen and Chino as neither wanted to trek the 12 feet through the rain to each other. They do what any good, rich, southern Californian teen with girl problems does: they phoned it in.
Yes, Cohen decides it is now or never. He needs to profess his undying love for Summer before she cavorts off to Italy with the shamefully nice Zach for “canolis and canoodling,” not to mention the nappy dugout. “What took so long!?!” you might ask yourself, but Cohen (and Sandy’s) inability to confront and verbalize their feelings is at the heart of the tension that’s built these past few weeks. It is their fatal character flaw. But like in so many classic dramas, who saves a fatally flawed hero? A divine heroine.
Babyshambles Live at Brixton Academy
Babyshambles Photos by Andrew Kendall. Live at Brixton Academy on February 22, 2005.
M. Ward – Transistor Radio
M. Ward – Transistor Radio (Merge)
A familiar melody chimes through the beginning of Transistor Radio, Matt Ward’s third album and follow-up to the extraordinary Transfiguration of Vincent. It’s the Beach Boys’ “You Still Believe In Me,” re-created on two acoustic guitars. Although you can still pick fragments of the original’s sweetly melancholic arrangement out, Ward’s version has gathered some antique charm—it takes on a completely different personality in Ward’s hands. Which, perhaps, is his biggest asset—he knows the virtues of ambiguity. When exactly was this album recorded again?
His voice, which is downtrodden and just a little rusty, cracks over these mini-dirges with a timeless charm. Which makes it so difficult to pinpoint Ward’s sound, to pick words to describe it—on the surface, it’s incredibly simple-sounding. But delve deeper and you find that these songs have as many layers as a towering evergreen trunk carved into cross-section view. Ward turns the dial of his own transistor radio and captures the sound, atmosphere, and production of everything he picks up signal on—even if it means the monophonic haze of “One Life Away” (with Jim James) sounds ancient in comparison to the following track, the sweetly disorienting “Sweethearts on Parade.” Somehow, it all makes sense as a whole.
Transistor Radio bears a less introspective nature to its predecessor—nowhere is Ward hoping for “a voice at the end of the line,” instead taking on a more abstract, metaphorical lyrical tone that suits the evasive setting the songs take place in. But the shots Ward does take here hit hard—”Come back / My little peace of mind,” and “I’ve got lonesome fuel for fire” say so much with so little that I imagine all other so-called lyricists jealous that Ward got to these sentiments before they could.
Ward’s diverse yet strangely united, collective sound is blanketed with the rustic sense of rootsy, outdoors America—where the back-porch is still home, where the rocking chair sways softly in the breeze, where the sun sets over the horizon and you can see for miles over the amber landscape. Where the internet and digital cable aren’t even part of the vocabulary. And most importantly, where a man with an acoustic guitar can put you right in the middle of this serenity, despite honing his craft in the post-millennial age. When everything else today seemingly needs a blip or a beep, Ward is content letting the spirit of centuries past play his backing band, giving Transistor Radio the sweet spirit your history textbook is lacking.