Rubblebucket’s press page claims that the band “sounds the way a kaleidoscope looks.” Actually, they’re quite on the mark. And this is not necessarily because the Brooklyn-based 8-piece, who originally hail from Vermont, specializes in battering the listener into compliance via a cacophony of distorted guitar, decaying dance beats, and other electronic ephemera. Think more of a sublime marriage between Kalmia Traver’s smooth (almost Sade-smooth) vocals and Latin-influenced melodies of horn players Alex Toth and Adam Dotson. Put more simply, Omega La La is, at its core, a collection of simple folksy, kind of rock-ish, sort of jazzy tracks peppered with clave beats and guitar phrasing that evokes the disco era.

Indeed, the band, which adds trumpet, sax, trombone, percussion, and a synth to the normal guitar/bass/drum setup, specializes in constructing upbeat, smooth, and infectious songs that serve as blank canvasses upon which keys, horns, and guitars are painted in with dexterity and deliberate restraint; adding touches of color here and there. In fact, its this addition of subtle changes in instrumentation, time signatures, and overall tone that seems to be what the band does best.

If by saying “sounding the way a kaleidoscope looks,” the band’s press company (Girlie Action) means that the band pulls motifs, instrumentation, and rhythm concepts from a vast array of music, then yes, they are correct. Much like their peers in bands like the Rapture, Minus the Bear, Battles, and the Mars Volta, this indie-rock band seems bent on packing as much sonic variety in their songs as possible. At times this approach works, like in the incredibly catchy “Silly Fathers” and the claveinflected opener, “Down in the Yards.” Other times, the songs come off as meandering lounge tracks that get lost in the band’s clearly vast array of influences. On songs like “Came Out of A Lady,” and “Triangular Daisies,” one can almost hear the band asking themselves: are we a disco band, a Cuban rhythm section, or a jazz/lounge act? Like many of their peers they must ask themselves: Can we not do it all? And that’s what we get when kids who grow up with everything suddenly find themselves writing music…

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Battles
Gloss Drop
Warp, 2011

Since the mid-2000′s, New York’s Battles have taken their place amongst a plethora of bands that have, since the mid-90′s, focused on bare bones instrumentation (guitar, bass, drums, and keyboards) and sparse, almost austere motifs. My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless (Creation,1991), and Mogwai’s Young Team (Chemikal Records, 1997), and the work of krautrock pioneers Can and Bauhaus immediately come to mind. The slow building success of these European bands would eventually spawn a slew of American bands influenced particularly by their European counterparts’ use of gobs of delay, outright noise, and a loudquiet dynamic that had not yet been beaten to a bloody pulp.

To be sure, Europe’s influence over what is now recognized in America as post-rock (often referred to with varying degrees of accuracy as math-rock) would soon prove to be farreaching. Chicago’s Tortoise is an obvious referent; as is Spiderland-era Slint. Less obvious offspring have come in the form of “reformed” metal heads like Minus the Bear (who pulled members from the long-since-defunct Oregon-based band, Botch), and numerous post-metal projects like crust/sludge veterans Neurosis (who were, arguably, the first American band to include the salient approach of post-rock: minimalism, minimalism, minimalism), ISIS, and Chicago’s Pelican. The thread tying this otherwise diverse list of bands is precisely the manner

in which these groups have evolved their thinking regarding arrangement and instrumentation: instruments (especially guitars) are seen as textural implements intended to provide support and color, not necessarily as lead instruments. The basic concept here involves a line of thinking that sees individual phrasing as parts of a whole. Thus, the song itself receives the artist’s attention, not just the guitar solo, the hook, or the vocal melodies. The development of a specific mood and the evolution of song structure are often privileged over linear forms and catchy harmonies.

Indeed, these rather young American groups are snatching ideas from a movement often dated to the late 1960s-1970s (this dating is attributed mainly to music critic Ian MacDonald). Writer, composer, and musicologist Kyle Gann dates the minimalist movement up to the 1980s, when it was partly-usurped by a rather unassuming “movement” consisting of what he refers to as “post-minimalists” exemplified by pianist Neely Bruce (specifically his 1980 live version of William Duckworth’s Time Curve Preludes). Here, Gann notes Bruce’s augmentation of the sonically sparse Time Curve Preludes with such prototypical insertions of “medieval isorhythms, Messiaen’s concept of non-retrogradable rhythm, and bluegrass banjopicking

patterns (Gann, “Minimal Music, Maximal Impact: Minimalism’s Immediate Legacy: Postminimalism,” 2001).”

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Death Grips
Exmilitary
2011

Much has been written about this group in their short existence, though very little has actually been said. Comparisons to Anti-Pop Consortium and Dalek have been made. Notice of Zach Hill (the crazed percussionist in the freak out duo known as Hella) has been taken. But John Calvert, contributor for The Quietus, seems to be the only one in the know (which isn’t surprising, judging by the website’s tendency to be the first to mine some of the gnarliest new shit on the planet).
The quintet, comprised of MC Ride, producer Flatlander, vocalist Mexican Girl, and Zach Hill (who, besides Hella, has worked with Omar Rodriguez-Lopez, and as a solo artist), produces some of the heaviest, most chaotic techno-infused hip-hop. The Anti-Pop references aren’t far off, actually; given that the massive bass attack often instills in the listener a terribly dreadful feeling of suffocation and claustrophobia-induced paralysis.
“Beware,” the first track on Exmilitary immediately starts things off with a dose of psychosis via a particularly cocky improvisational speech from Charles Manson. The sample is soon lost amidst the slow, washy beat that spreads itself out over the following 4+ minutes. Though Calvert mentions Dalek in the same sentence as the title track, MC Ride’s delivery, set over the brutally slow, incredibly dirty/nasty 4/4 of Zach Hill reminds me more of a Mike Ladd project– specifically his work on the 2003 Majesticons album Beauty Party.

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The Philadelphia International Festival of the Arts (PIFA), held  on Saturday, April 30th as part of the Kimmel Center’s Tenth Anniversary, featured live music, framed art, and street performances along a 5 block span of Philadelphia’s Broad Street. According to PIFA planners, the fair was meant to (re)inspire the city of Philadelphia through the “passion” and “power” of art. To create, even, a utopian City of Art. Organizers steeped in self-importance visualized a city in rapture; gleaming and productive, a happy city even. Evoking keywords from the Art Nouveau movement in Western Europe in the early 20th Century, one PIFA press release claimed that exactly 100 years later, in 2011, Philadelphia would reignite the flame of passion, power, and grace. Philadelphia was not only to be rejuvenated by this power, but would ideally also become a leading global city; the central node in a new transnational explosion of art. Of course, no one saw the irony in trying to institute a spontaneous art-based cultural movement. Please nod your head if any of these hyperbolic pipe dreams left you deeply troubled… READ MORE AFTER THE JUMP »»

Moon Duo
Mazes
Sacred Bones 2011

Moon Duo, a Cali-based neo-psychedelic post-rock twosome comprised of Wooden Shjips guitarist Erik Johnson and his significant other Sanae Yamada, construct similarly mammoth riffs as Johnson’s other project, though with the help of keyboards and other 8-bit ephemera. Their latest effort, Mazes, sounds oddly organic, combining the comparatively cool tonal characteristics of synths, Hammonds, and resurrected Casiotones with warm, thick, and hazy riffs churning endlessly underneath sun-invoking psychedelic surf rock harmonies.
Johnson’s vocals are full-bodied and lazy as shit on the album’s fifth track, “When You Cut;” even sounding reminiscent of Beck’s later work. A slow-burning surf lead wafting in and out of the main riff echoes the work of Blue Cheer, The Beach Boys, and the Astronauts. The album’s next track, “Run Around,” owes its catchy, driving beat to a list of forebears as diverse as early 20th century jazz and country blues, My Generation-era Who, Joy Division, and Echo and the Bunnymen. The most memorable element of the track is the Moon-esque brush n’ snare skiffle set over top a quick quarter note kick pattern. Nice and light, leaving plenty of room for the torrent of delayed, jangly guitars to swim around.
Moon Duo are exemplary of the type of bands that are today mixing current technology and aesthetics with an eye towards the arrangements and instrumentation of much earlier rock n’ roll. Duo’s creative, off-beat approach to stoner rock stands as a fresh, though not necessarily earth-shattering contribution to the latest surge of psychedelic bands coming out of California. Perhaps what’s most important, however, is Moon Duo’s obvious preference for establishing great groove and feel over the constant shower of technical prowess characteristic of a good many post-rock bands of today.

GLASSJAW
Trocadero Theatre, Philadelphia, PA
2.13.2011

Glassjaw is one of those rare bands that seem to float in and out of obscurity without ever losing relevance. Such a sentiment certainly simplifies the band’s rather tumultuous  twenty-year career, though. The New York post-rock outfit has weathered bitter legal battles with Roadrunner Records, a revolving door of musicians, and vocalist Daryl Palumbo’s ongoing struggle with Crohn’s Disease. With only two full releases under their belt (separated by two years, with the second effort, Worship and Tribute, released nine years ago), the band has sustained themselves through intermittent touring and near constant communication with their cult following through MySpace and Twitter.
Again, though, all of this really only treats superficially the reason for the band’s relative success. The real reason for the band’s continued existence stems solely from their ability to write some of the noisiest, weirdest post-harcore to come out of the East Coast in a decade. Sure, I and a thousand female high school students love Glassjaw (a demographic reality that, let’s face it, no one can really control), but there’s something in the band’s controlled chaos (dissonant phrasing, loose, snare-heavy shuffles, and loads of feedback) and in Palumbo’s consistently passionate, though oft-homicidal delivery, that sets them very, very far apart from their peers (Rival Schools, Thursday, Receiving End of Sirens, Fall Out Boy, etc, etc, etc.). All of this mitigates the fact that they and their management seem not altogether organized when it comes to scheduling interviews…
Glassjaw adds further compensation for that stark reality through their other primary skill: ear-splitting live shows properly represented through only two known English words: power and lunacy. Their February 13th appearance at the Trocadero Theatre in Philadelphia proved no exception to this formula. After two easily forgettable bands mercifully left the stage, Glassjaw appeared in full force; with a clearly fucked up Palumbo to boot. Unfortunately, Glassjaw’s newest EP Coloring Book (Roadrunner, 2011) finds, for the first time, a Glassjaw lost amidst their influences (as well as their own influence, after over a decade of international exposure, feeding back). This, of course, translated into a live show dominated largely by these new, perhaps uninspired tracks. Only here and there were we treated to tracks off of the band’s two full lengths, though, for the band, playing those songs was probably an indulgence taken at the expense of the pleasure of the latest iteration of Glassjaw fans. A great performance and a boring set list. Rats…

In many ways, the music of bands like the MC5 and the Stooges was a response to the disillusionment pervading the country in the late 1960s. This fact is perhaps more obvious when considering the punk rock bands (Sex Pistols, Ramones, and the Clash) that arrived a decade later. But historically, bands like the MC5 and the Stooges were indeed on the cutting edge of the mounting despair. Fuck, the MC5 literally provided the soundtrack to the wave of violent protests that marked the 1968 Democratic National Convention. How much more punk rock can you get?

Beyond the politics of proto-punk rock bands like the MC5, it was the sound itself that heralded a new era in rock n’ roll. The psychedelia of the waning San Francisco Sound was still there, but its suggestion of blissful optimism was toned down in favor of louder, more distorted guitars, faster beats, and far less harmonious vocals. No more were the days in which hippies got high and floated to the moon on banana leaves. Indeed, by the time the MC5 released their first album, Kick Out the Jams (Elektra, 1969), kids were getting blasted for the sake of getting blasted, and then cruising the stratosphere in stripped-down Harleys. Yes, this moment witnessed the blackening of the West Coast Flower Sound. This music was sheer energy; the perfect soundtrack for organizations like the Weathermen (later the Weather Underground) to build bombs in their New York City apartments…

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It’s never a mild, normal night, meteorologically speaking, when I go to Kung Fu Necktie. Nope. Instead, the temp is always bottoming out around 20? or soaring somewhere in the 90’s. ANYWAY, New York’s Monuments had just started their set as I limped in out of the cold. Not a bad band, though certainly nothing groundbreaking. They, like many of their colleagues, are taking up where British shoegazers left off ten years ago. The songs were spacey, wide open, and meandering. Though, what separates the good bands in this genre (Beach House, Grizzly Bear, Interpol) from the great bands (Mogwai, Kayo Dot, Isis, 27, Jesu) is that with the latter all the meandering actually goes somewhere. Given time, further experimentation, and a completely different approach to their vocals, Monuments have the potential to make some really interesting music.

By the time Man Like Machine (MLM) came on, I had nearly slipped into a sonically induced coma. MLM is composed of vocalist/guitarist Joshua Bright, bassist/keyboards/programmer Giuseppe DiCristino, and drummer Wesley DiSonrisas. Their newest EP, Kills for Thrills, released in late 2010, is the latest snapshot of the band’s chaotic, amorphous approach to songwriting. The balls on the bass and synth passages suggest some form of allegiance to bands like Brainiac and The Locust, where electro-decay and tight low end give the overall sound a jerky, unstable quality: organized chaos is a good phrase. DiSonrisa’s drumming is controlled, restrained, and rather technical. The result of all of this is a certain thickness that lends itself simultaneously to the dance-friendly sound of The Faint and the machine-like tone of projects like Nine Inch Nails and Aphex Twin. Bass swells in songs like “Smoking Gun” (Kills for Thrills, 2010) mutate the otherwise pop-driven guitars and vocal patterns just enough to cement the band’s claims to originality. Yes, the songs are hopelessly catchy, but only as much as they are strange, weird… twisted even. What does all of this add up to? It’s called good songwriting.

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Review

PROWLER

Wooly Mammoth (Self-released, 2010)

Night Train, Thursday, December 2^nd, 2010

It was with much trepidation that I anticipated Thursday’s penultimate episode of the Night Train saga. It could have been Night Train’s first night, or it could have been its 15^th night. Either way, I’ve never been and I’ve never planned on going. And who could blame me? Those people are animals! No respect for the law, no regard for the constraints of time and space, total indulgence in every form of drug yet available. Such parties are the representation of sheer decadence and the unabashed will to live—all of the evil and excess of Las Vegas, Havana, and band camp. And so it could have been any chapter in Night Train’s short, though celebrated tenure, but it wasn’t. It was THE SECOND TO LAST Night Train, and those mutant motherfuckers, sensing that their weekly satisfaction of desire was evaporating, were going to be EVERYWHERE.

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