In My Life

Come - Eleven : Eleven

  Slow trodden and boldly dissonant, Eleven : Eleven would go on to make its permanent mark on the then fertile American noise-rock circuit of the early 90's.  The band behind it, Come, received unending praise from all corners (Cobain, Mascis, Mould, et al) yet its hard for me  to say  where they fit in that pantheon, so I won't go there.  Perhaps they're that band you come across when you are searching for the missing link between the loud and the slow that would categorize the influence of grunge onto the quieter acoustic waters of sadcore?  Who knows?

  Chris Brokaw, then the drummer of Codeine, decided to get together with a few friends and enlisted the vocal gruffness of Ms. Thalia Zedek.   In 1991, they produced the single "Car" followed by this, their first full-length, in '92. Their earliest material definitely drew inspiration from the bluesiest moments of  the Birthday Party and set a standard for the quartet with their major label debut on Matador records.  Be advised however, Yo La Tengo this is not!

  The Opener "Submerge" is ode to spiraling downward, a lullaby written for a nowhere generation.  Actually, Zedek and Brokaw manange to maintain a sense of bottomless-ness through it all making it difficult to find a single hook or chord progression that climbs its way out.  "Brand New Vain" creeps along with a guitar tone similar to what I think Dylan Carlson was trying to go for in some of Earth's latest releases albeit less repetitive and way, way darker.  There is a brief interruption with the song "William" which moves at slightly quicker pace than the rest and reminds me of the sound that Sonic Youth was also trying to go for at that time in their career as well.  I have to admit though, its the downers that really make this album worth listening to, and with all respect to Kim Gordon, Thalia just bums me out more.

  My favorite song, and definitely the reason that I began listening to this band in the first place, is "Off to One Side."  This pretty much captures everything I mentioned above perfectly.  In my wild imagination it blocks out the sun and sucks all of the good times out of a college rock obsessed youth culture for whom four years is just enough to discover everything and yourself.  Think of it this way:  "Detouring America with Horns," might bring back those brighter memories of partying with your girlfriend and getting shit-faced in your dorm; but then there were those nights of aimless driving when you doubted love and nothing mattered anymore because, well, it was all nothing anyway.  Thanks a lot Come.

Eleven : Eleven

-Frank
  

Potty Mouth - superfriends

Photo courtesy of: http://pottymouthgirls.tumblr.com 

  

  Do you enjoy cold weather and hibernation?  If yes, then you are probably like me and know that February is perfect for discovering bands and making them part of your personal afternoon show - that is, until the ice melts and you eagerly jump on the opportunity to see those bands live and loud.  Given our strangely warm winter this year, I actually had the opportunity to wander out and see this band when they came through here, but for some reason declined.  I have been privately regretting this and kicking myself because they rule.

  Potty Mouth are 4 ladies that are no strangers to cold weather as they hail from Western Massachusetts, a real place of isolation during the winter, but also an historical hot-spot for great bands past and present.  This single, "superfriends," was shortly released after the band's demo dropped this past fall.  On the surface, this draws a lot of influence from the P.N.W Riot Grrrl sound of the '90s, specifically coming to mind is Bratmobile.  If you listen again, you might find something akin to american post-punk, most notably in the singer's banshee pitch changes and the guitar sty-lings.  Either way you look at it, its still punk and next time they come through I'll go see them.  Hey, they're playing this weekend!

Potty Mouth

-Frank

Sourpatch- Crushin'

In 2009 Sourpatch released the first ever concept album about "Crushin.'" Okay, not really, but when Crushin' (Happy Happy Birthday to Me) opened with a soundbite of a woman teaching a kid the script for a Sourpatch Kids commercial,  I knew I was in for another satirical vs. earnest set of jams about unrequited love in the sun and feminist jokes about television.

A self-described "pop-worship" ensemble, Sourpatch is a west coast affair along the nineties lines of the But I'm a Cheerleader soundtrack. Not that there's anything wrong with Crushin's obvious west coast tweepop influences, but I can still tell that it's a 21st ("post-earnest" oh god) century release. While lyrically the crushin' theme stays pretty tight to Tiger Trap et al, Crushin's also all about ambivalence, and even some 21st century self-help ("How can you learn to move on/to get strong/ if you never give yourself a chance?"). The first half of the album gets into unrequited affection and nostalgia and then turns an angry edge by my personal favorite track, "Never (Ever Ever) Enough." Transitioning to jams about polyamory ("Toothache") and disappointment, Nicole's vocals are versatile and go from hurt to sweet to bitter and back again.

"I Want You Either Way." 

Sourpatch has a new EP coming up in 2012 that promises to further exhibit why you'd rather live in California. 

"Cynthia Ann" off Stagger and Fade.

Also looking forward to summer 2k12, California or not, because I heard Sourpatch will be coming around for a tour with Swearin' come June!!

Download Crushin'.

d.vassalotti - "book of ghosts" LP

  Truly, truly worth checking out.  I enjoyed what Adam from icouldietomorrow wrote up for this peculiar albeit absolutely gorgeous mash-up of lo-fi riff-age (tooo manyy hyyyphens), bewildering soundscapes, and lines spoken and shouted in Italian and English respectively.  If you happen upon our blog, please take a detour over to the icoulddietommorows and give this a try.  If your familiar with anything involving d.vassalotti, be it Cult Ritual, Merchandise, Neon Blud etc., this will not disappoint and may result in Tampageist.


Purchase from Vinyl Rites here and check out the 7 inch he put out through Katorga Works under the moniker ( ) at this boring website.


-Frank's last commercial inspired post for a while.

Brown Sugar / Mayday!

    From the ice-rink that is Buffalo, NY comes a firecracker of a split 7" that should make any Buffal-killing Queen City Punk proud.  Brown Sugar is definitely one of the most entertaining bands I was able to see last year, and their tour ended on a very high note when they shared the stage in Brooklyn with powerhouse players Rational Animals back in December.  Their lead singer Eddy takes snotty vocals and space invasion really seriously and, let me tell you, the 4 songs that make up the b side of this split will challenge any iron minded listener to refrain from pillow moshing. Just take in the lovely simplicity  of  lyrics  like "good ol' days/just sticks & rocks/no gunshots/just sticks & headlocks/good ol' days."  For back-to-basics nerds, this is a must-listen. 

  

   A side??

   

  Mayday! is another Buffalo band and Feral Kid label-mate of Brown Sugar.  They remind me a little of the band Morbid Opera from Fla. and the 80's.  Surfing is permitted on Lake Ontario and your not going to regret it.

Get it here

or

Buy here on Feral Kid and get the Brown Sugar LP for more of the same and better (hint hint: Tropical Disease!)

-Frank

Waxahatchee- American Weekend

Sometimes I lie awake at night and wonder where the "why did you hurt me?” paradigm of lady-fronted pop music came from. The blues is an obvious answer. However, when I actually listen to older lyrics like Bessie Smith and Elizabeth Cotten, they're talking about how they feel instead of analyzing dudes. Analyzing someone else loses some of the power that comes from the singer expressing their own feelings. My unfounded conspiracy theory is that the whole “why did you hurt me (was it yr dad)?” trend was a weird marketing ploy perpetrated by Phil Spector in the sixties, but I really don’t know. Anyway, I’m always grateful to hear introspective tracks that play around with the concept and start telling a different story.

                                                                                                                                                          

Waxahatchee is Katie Crutchfield of P.S. Eliot and Bad Banana's solo project, and American Weekend is her first full-length release following a 2011 split with Chris Clavin. The acoustic tracks contain short and simple melodies reminiscent of a Guided by Voices’ jingle, and the lyrics are like tiny devastating short stories. Despite the haunting, melancholy tone, American Weekend conveys a kind of bravado and even humor that puts it outside most 90’s hand-holding pop activity.

 Everything sounds slightly underwater.

"bathtub"

 Always from a first-person perspective, each song sounds masochistic and sad and desperate, which ironically or not is why I find American Weekend a “feminist album.” Crushers like “catfish” and “rose, 1956” insist on irredeemable loss. “rose 1956” could easily be about a grandmother’s life: “now i hide out from telephone wires at waxahatchee creek/ your body, weak from smoke and tar and subsequent disease/ you got married when you were 15.”

These tracks remind me of the private, inward anger that I associate with my American Weekend generation, and the weird integrity of refusing to be any less sad. Only slightly less underwater than "bathtub," “catfish” is by far my favorite track. The melody is so repetitive and the lyrics are so careful and precise that it makes me think of very barely contained anger: “we stick to our slow motion memory/its 1 in the morning and 90 degrees/and though now it is hovering darkly over me/it'll look just like heaven when i get up and leave/you're a ghost and i can't breathe.” 


[Anyone who wants to talk about feminist mourning, catfish, Phil Spector or mood music, feel free to get in touch].

-Rachel

Waxahatchee is on tour at this very moment, and you can find American Weekend here from Don Giovanni.