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This Week's Free Song Download Free download of "Stay Close," taken from Delorean's new full-length, Subiza, the Spanish quartet's first readily available album in the States. The band has been gaining a lot of steam as of late with their melodic blend of indie-pop and Balearic-kissed electronic production -- a richly layered concoction of vocal harmonies atop swirling percussion and synth hooks, all held together by a steady 4/4 pulse.
Barsuk Records Label Spotlight
In this week's Digital Update we're shining the spotlight on Seattle's Barsuk Records. Formed in 1994 by This Busy Monster's Christopher Possanza and Josh Rosenfeld, Barsuk has grown to be one of indie rock's premier labels, launching the career of Death Cab for Cutie, and releasing albums from favorites like Mates of State, Menomena, Nada Surf, Rilo Kiley, the Long Winters, and many, many more. Below are some of our Barsuk picks, including the brand new, self-titled album from Pearly Gate Music and a double-disc reissue of Death Cab's now-classic debut, Something About Airplanes. We're also featuring this 19-track, label sampler, curated by Other Music, available for the nice low price of $3.99 for the next month. And for the next two weeks, all Barsuk full-length downloads will be sale-priced at $5.99 on Other Music Digital, except for the double-disc Something About Airplanes, which is marked down to $7.99. Dig in! Zach Tillman's music is primal, but not primitive. It's thematically complex, but sonically sparse. It is religious music, but filled with the confessions of a sinner. "Oh God, I'm an animal," he sings on "Gossamer Hair," "Don't tell anybody you saw the state I'm in." Throughout the record, moments of sweetness are flatly juxtaposed against moments of tragedy and starkness, as on the swaggering, half-drunk growler "Daddy Wrote You Letters," where Daddy does indeed write letters...but from "the clink." These touches of Southern gothicism might remind you of Will Sheff's work with Okkervil River, but the beatific mood of instruments like mandolins, accordions, and slapping hands, the sense of madness just beyond the horizon, and the overall feeling of redemption makes the amazing debut from Pearly Gate Music feel like an aural companion to Jack Kerouac's Big Sur. The most apt comparison for such an immersive, expansive, and gorgeous record is Grizzly Bear's Veckatimest, but Pearly Gate Music feels more natural and homespun -- organic and drowsy, like a night on the porch listening to a storyteller with well-worn shoes talk about his amazing travels. -Michael Stasiak On Death Cab for Cutie's first proper studio album, released in 1998, Ben Gibbard sang about "moving forwards" with no possible conception of where he and his bandmates would find themselves in not even a decade. If I had been listening to Something About Airplanes on its initial release and you told me that your vision of the future showed DCFC's fifth album going platinum, I'd have called you a gawdamn fool and asked if you had been swilling champagne from a paper cup. SAA shows Gibbard and company presenting deliberate stylistic challenges to their listeners, right off the bat and without any apologies. "Bend to Squares" begins with an out-of-tune toy guitar and Erika Jacobs' mournful cello arrangement, but boils slowly to an angsty and breathless chorus that delivers on the promised forward momentum. Certain moments on the record remind you that long before Death Cab for Cutie would be selling millions of records and inspiring a new generation of indie bands, these guys had peers and influences too -- the verses of "President of What?" sound like Built to Spill Jr., or the mild mannered cousin of Modest Mouse. What is evident though -- and amazing -- is how confident and fully formed the group's sound is on the first go-around, how tight and insular the production is (like Gibbard sucked the air right out of the studio when he walked inside). The enigmatic nature of the lyrics, coupled with the general sentiments of teenage rebellion/heartbreak and suburban wanderlust ("I think I'm drunk enough to drive you home now"), made this record something of a requirement for young indie rockers at the beginning of the decade. Something About Airplanes is alternately tough and weak-willed, confident and tear-stained. It's a love letter and a break-up text message, filled with equal measures of defiance and defeat. Barsuk's two-disc reissue of the record includes a live set from Seattle's Crocodile Café in 1998, which begins with Chris Walla saying, incredulously, "There's lots of people here!" Now, it seems inconceivable that DCFC would be playing live in a Seattle rock circuit dive bar, but Gibbard and the boys burn to shine on this particular night. The leanness of a slow song like "Your Bruise" gets a more aggressive treatment with crunchier guitars and more forceful vocals from Gibbard. Along with cuts from SAA, Death Cab joins forces with Harvey Danger's Sean Nelson for a cover of The Smith's "Sweet and Tender Hooligan," but the closer is the clincher. "Pictures in an Exhibition" remains one of the band's best songs, and it's one of the standout tracks on record because of its reliance on Walla and Gibbard's combined electric guitar onslaught. -Michael Stasiak
Here's the debut full-length from Phantogram, an often genre-dodging (yet consistently catchy) duo from Greenwhich, NY. Made up of Sarah Barthel and guitar man Josh Carter, this isn't your average boy-girl indie team. While they write incredibly sticky songs, and occasionally verge on a more conventional "rock" formula (see "All Dried Up," a pulsing pop ballad of the highest order), Phantogram also have a penchant for house beats and hazy, trip-hop-inspired atmospheres. "Turn It Off," for example, features a grinding, club-like pulse throughout, and "Bloody Palms" is a dark, neo-disco masterpiece, a song that is pretty, eerie, and danceable, all at once. Of course, Eyelid Movies will appeal to plenty of us who aren't beat connoisseurs; the group's love of electronic rhythms sets them apart from the indie pop set, sure, but Phantogram are by no means a one-trick pony. Arguably, some of strongest moments on the album are the hooks; the chorus to "Mouthful of Diamonds" is reason enough to add this one to your collection. And the combination of simple, driving bass and spare melody on "When I'm Small" is equally alluring. Fuzzed-out synth/guitar washes will inspire comparisons to that hazy, trebly Bailter Space/Swirlies sound but clearly, Phantogram aren't shoegazers either, as exampled by "Running from the Cops," an edgy dubstep-influenced gem. There's really no need to classify these guys, as they make great music. Can't wait for the next release. -Jacob Kaplan
Blunt Mechanic's World Record begins with a humorous, 17-second snippet called "Gear Check." One minute the equipment is working: "It works -- it just needed a minute to fire up," says Blunt Mechanic founder and former Kind of Like Spitting member Ben Barnett. He sounds incredulous. "But look...it sounds rad in here too." Suddenly there's a crackle, and static, and Barnett groans, "Oh, dude it is fucked up. All the pods need to be cleaned." One minute, everything's fine, but before you know it, it's all fallen to pieces -- that sums up quite a lot of Blunt Mechanic's songs, a band from Portland, OR who sound like the Unicorns fed through Robert Pollard's tape machine. A refreshingly off-kilter reinterpretation of psychedelic guitar rock, there's an anarchic spirit running through this little lo-fi gem that threatens to tear the songs to bits just as they get going. Tracks like "Proof" harbor ripples of unexpected weirdness (where the hell did that spaceship synthesizer come from?) and a love of tape hiss texture, distortion, and 1970s rock and roll -- during "Aluminum and Light, Barnett shouts out "Dark side of the marquee moon!" Indeed... -Michael Stasiak
The Wooden Birds is the new project of Andrew Kenny of American Analog Set, and also features members of Lymbic System and Ola Podrida. After a six-year stint in Brooklyn, Kenny has returned to Austin, TX and has likewise re-adopted his original style of country-tinged, gently produced songwriting. Magnolia is hypnotic and mellow as anything he released as AAS, but strips away the hazy keyboard wash and Autobahn-friendly rhythms of that band, for something more rootsy and pure. A lovely album from a favorite son. -Josh Madell
There are so many great aspects of Jesse Sykes & the Sweet Hereafter's Like, Love, Lust & the Open Halls of the Soul, so many moments of glaring beauty, that it's difficult to decide where to begin. Does one laud the band's ability to shift effortlessly from plaintive folk balladry to up-tempo, whiskey-soaked rock? Or should one lead off with an appraisal of Sweet Hereafter leader Phil Wandscher's guitar work? (Hint: it's unfailingly jaw-dropping). Perhaps the best thing to do is focus on the group's not-so-secret weapon: Sykes' unparalleled vocal styling. The truth is, all of these elements -- and more -- combined are what make Like, Love, Lust..., the group's third full-length, a near perfect listen. The album marks true cohesion, that point in a band's career when all of the different elements come together perfectly, yielding a sum that's greater than its parts (of course, Jesse Sykes & Co. boast some pretty killer parts). Slow, sad numbers like "Eisenhower Moon" and "Aftermath" showcase Sykes' timeless, gravely cadence, while still leaving plenty of room for Wandscher's guitar wizardry. And on rockers like "LLL" and "You Might Walk Away," the band kicks into full-on bar-rock mode, but Sykes' crooning is still just as prominent, although perhaps a touch less melancholic. The album also finds the group experimenting with bigger, more complex arrangements, and the result is a richness that was absent on previous releases. On "The Air Is Thin," horns (led by Dave Carter) augment the soaring chorus, and "Spectral Beings" features the mournful wail of a string section (featuring violinist Eyvind Kang). All in all, Like, Love, Lust... is by far the group's most accomplished, nuanced work to date; it manages to touch on many different sounds throughout while still maintaining a wonderful cohesiveness. For fans of Lucinda Williams, beautiful wistfulness, and instant classics. Highly recommended. -Jacob Kaplan
John Roderick may be a negative creep, but he manages to funnel his bitterness into some remarkably likable pop music. His band, sometimes a solo affair and sometimes a full-fledged group session, is hard to put a finger on. They don't have a sound that is easy to pigeonhole, because this is not about the sound, it's about the songs themselves, fueled by Roderick's sharp wit and hugely personal gripes and pains and let-downs and put-downs, and his hopes too. Folksy, rocking, sad and yet triumphant, the Long Winters are tied in with Death Cab for Cutie in a few ways, and their pop is a definite reference point for the band, but the Winters bring an acid tongue and energy to the show that Death Cab lacks. Give these songs an inch and they will seep into your consciousness, like a letter from an ex that you tried to throw away but dug back out of the trash for a read and can never forget. -Josh Madell
I'm almost entirely sure none of the members of post-post-indie-rockers Menomena have beards. If this is indeed the case, the fact that they are from Portland, OR is pretty incredible. Not only that, but it would seem as a whole, the scene in Portland is more about some idyllic DIY "we wrote our entire record on a nylon string guitar and then recorded it on this Radio Shack cassette deck and my buddy Carl then did the artwork" mentality, rather than one of sheer virtuosic complexity. And yet for Menomena's 2007 Barsuk debut, Friend and Foe, sheer virtuosic complexity is pretty much exactly what you get. The cover looks like a Jackson Pollack commissioned by Lupe Fiasco -- dense as fuck, playful, modern, completely ridiculous, epic, and undeniably compelling. The album sounds that way too. Apparently, Menomena builds their jams (and these are jams) out of a computer program they made that loops instrumental parts or some such...I'm not a tech guy, but basically, I meant it as praise when I was dorking out to my friend saying that the drums on Foe opener "Muscle'n Flo" sounded "inhuman;" turns out I was more right than I knew. It's always a fine line to walk for a band, especially an "indie" band to get all epic on its listening audience. The years haven't been as kind to Pink Floyd as say Nick Drake, but no matter, Friend and Foe is so brazenly ornate, and just flat-out huge, Menomena almost make TV on the Radio sound like Jose Gonzalez. Panoramic organs. Triple-tracked drums. Trombones. Glockenspiels. Careening guitars. Armies of keyboards. Hyper-melodramatic vocals. Hell, there's even a show-stopping song that sounds like Phillip Glass sitting in with Slint ("Wet and Rustling"). This is the album that could make eating soup sound like a life or death activity. -Hartley Goldstein These later years show Nor'wester David Bazan as a fevered alchemist, attempting to pour his Pedro the Lion, Headphones, and David Bazan personas into a cohesive concoction of power, ache, and melodrama. But is the result a pot of gold? Ever since the Whole EP back in 1997, Bazan's work has been characterized by gunshot percussion, a hangdog sense of guilt, and the thirst for redemption. His pleading voice questions everyday notions of security, serenity, faith, and honesty. With a quick twist of the tongue and an emphasis on a word or a chord, Bazan can turn any romantic idyll into a serpentine bramble of unspoken mistrust and loathing. As the engine behind Pedro the Lion, Bazan was at the top of the angst dog pile. With the dissolution of the Lion and the birth of Headphones, Bazan successfully superimposed his murder ballads onto an electronic framework that grooved as well as we all thought it wouldn't. But the seismic shift towards lush, orchestral works that also functioned as pop songs (Andrew Bird, Sufjan Stevens, Arcade Fire, Grizzly Bear, St. Vincent, and Dirty Projectors are all to blame) drove electric guitar-driven songwriters like Bazan underground again. Suddenly it wasn't enough to be in command of four traditional rock instruments running on four parallel tracks toward the same dramatic notion. Violins and symphony dropouts were back in vogue. Luckily, David Bazan is an expert at pushing round pegs into square holes and defying expectations (hell, most of his songs are about the very same idea). Curse Your Branches isn't as heavy as Pedro the Lion's 2002 masterpiece Control (the loudest record I've ever heard, literally and metaphysically), but the trademark driving percussion work does all the steering, laying into your skin with every punchy tom-tom workout. The first sounds out of the gate on opener "Hard to Be" are not from an overdriven amplifier, but from three sophisticated keyboard parts that build magnificently up to the opening Bazan bellow. He takes the wrenching punch lines of the American Flags EP b-side, "Please, Baby, Please," and softens the lyrical blows with lighthearted electronic drums and jangly tambourines. Electronics lurk around every strum of a guitar, and the autobiographical never strays too far from the front. The recurrent lyrical theme of falling from grace and being cursed is at the heart of every song -- Catholic priests molesting young nuns and altar boys; a chuckle at the thought that your daughter can't smell the liquor on your breath like your wife can; a leaf feeling slighted that the branches might have a say in where it falls. Deft compositional touches and an engaging blend of rock instruments and synthesizers make this the most easily digestible David Bazan record to date. There's even a semi-straight blues number, which should alert Bazan scholars to the fact that this guy is running looser and goosier than he ever has before. "God bless the man who stumbles, God bless the man who falls, God bless the man who yields to temptation," Bazan sings. We can expect this to be the first in a series of increasingly satisfying records that don't require the grace of symphonic instruments, but actually rejoices in the movement away from grace. -Michael Stasiak
Lovebug duo Mates of State indeed upended their formula a bit on their aptly-titled disc Re-Arrange Us, from 2008, refusing to roll over to the obvious limitations of their stripped-down instrumentation. First off, Kori Gardiner largely steps away from her vintage keyboards and takes a seat at the grand piano, forcing hubby Jason Hammel to scale back his pounding rhythms a notch or two as well. Then, along with producers Peter Katis and Chris Walla, the duo (and a nice lineup of guest-stars) layer strings, guitars, horns and vocals; the resulting record has less of an edge than much of their earlier work, and instead plays up Gardiner's clear, soaring voice and the emotional (or is it straight-up emo) undercurrent to their songwriting, full of sweetness and sadness too. It's an impeccably produced album, managing to be lush while still sounding somewhat stark and spare, and while some of the raw energy of the duo's earlier albums may be missed, Re-Arrange Us shakes things up nicely. -Josh Madell
Nada Surf's 2003 released Let Go picks up where Teenage Fanclub's 1991 classic Bandwagonesque left off -- jangled hooks stream from every track and hope leaps from every blind spot, even during the more melancholy, mid-tempo numbers. Listening to Let Go seven years later, though, the undeniable influence of the late Alex Chilton is omnipresent in this set of songs, from the plaintive voice of lead singer/guitarist Matthew Caws to the easy, fluid way that the band deftly maneuvers between the anthemic and the insular. The most memorable track on the record is the gauzy, dreamlike "Blonde on Blonde," Caws' ode and lullaby to New York City and Galaxie 500. Just as the main character finds solace in Dylan's record while watching "everyone else rushing round," there is a whole generation of music enthusiasts who feel the same way about Nada Surf as many do about Dylan -- familiar, comfortable, like a soothing balm that can cure and reaffirm, even when it's raining cats and dogs down 14th Street. -Michael Stasiak
As with much of the best pop music, John Vanderslice's excellent Emerald City album is so sweet on the surface, but so dark and uncomfortable underneath. The title is a reference to Baghdad's Green Zone, and lyrically Vanderslice explores that, and other areas of false security and very real insecurity with a sharp poetic ear for both words and sounds that will seep into your consciousness and take hold. As with the title, this album disguises its fear and paranoia in beauty and light, and the results are gloriously unsettling. -Josh Madell |
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