Under Review

50 Foot Wave
Golden Ocean
(Throwing Music/4AD)
So whose voice is that anyway? Growly, powerful, explosive, mined from the quarry and cannon-balled through a wall of whiplash guitars. Kristin Hersh is guilty of wielding both. You mean Ms. Hersh of Throwing Muses? Oh yeah! Thank god that for her, getting older means rocking harder, and constantly putting out new records. This time, she’s taken two-thirds of TM, thrown in a new drummer, turned it up to 11, made it possible for eardrums to bleed, and called it 50 Foot Wave. You get her trademark disjointed-yet-catchy songs with her equally trademarked vocals, her piercing guitar work, an ass-kicking rhythm section and her own kind of wall-of-sound. This is Hersh at her loudest and angriest, heartfelt and regretful, chaotic and bitchy.
The problem is, she will always have her past to be compared to, and good as these songs are, they’re not her best. They all seem to share a similar tone and flavour, making them seem more like eleven versions of the same song rather than the distinct gems she’s capable of writing. Take University, Throwing Muses’ masterpiece. Listen to the opening chords of “Hazing” and how they seamlessly kick into the full volume of Hersh’s howl. Or the perfect pop of “Bright Yellow Gun.” Or pretty much every track, each with its own distinct flavour. Going back further, check “Counting Backwards” off The Real Ramona (the last album with Belly’s Tanya Donelly) for some classic Muses. Or “Delicate Cutters” from the eponymous first album (back in ’86!) And in 2003, Hersh got back together with her TM band-mates and put out another eponymous record, loud, heavy and really, really good. Then there’s her solo work (fuck she’s busy) including Sky Motel from ’99 that shows off her quieter, more intimate brilliance. But in the end, Kristin Hersh at her not-so-best is still better than most of the alterna-rock pretenders out there. Pick up some of the older stuff, get indoctrinated, and then see if you can resist 50 Foot Wave. I couldn’t.
Mr. Moo

Airborn Audio
Good Fortune
(Ninja Tune)
If you’re a fan of the Antipop Consortium but always had personal issues with Beans, Airborn Audio could be for you (as this is the other two thirds of the Consortium, High Priest and M. Sayyid, though if you’ve made it this far you probably already knew that, and you’ve already bought this album, and are just reading this review to check if I agree with you). As for those of you who simply read “Ninja Tune” at the top here, this only might be up your alley—that is, if you’re one of those progressive ‘Tuners who’ve been exploring the sounds of experimental rap. This isn’t Fog, though—this is a couple guys rapping mostly about themselves and about how good their shit is, and then speeding that up, slowing it down, singing in falsettos about being stars, and then throwing out backwards loops. If it’s lacking in any way, it’s that the first half of the album feels somehow too sparse to give it a solid bite. Still, half the fun of experimental music is in coming to terms with what at first sounded like a bad idea, and the second half of Good Fortune alone is worth buying the album for.
Soren Bros.

Born Heller
s/t
(Locust)
This album came out almost a full year ago with nary a whisper to announce it, but some things ought not to be passed by. Born Heller’s Jason Ajemian and Josephine Foster (who also fronts talented folk-rock outfit The Supposed) rewrite the time-worn script of backwoods Americana as a stark incantation. Less melodramatic than Faun Fables and more tense than White Magic, Born Heller inhabit their own world, but one that seems wholly stripped of pretense or artifice. To call the arrangements sparse would be an understatement: notes are meted out like stabs in the dark—there’s never two when one will suffice. This approach doesn’t leave an inch of space between Foster’s witchy voice and your ear. And what a voice! Her high, brittle croon will stop your heart and raise the hairs on the back of your neck. Likewise, Ajemian uses his upright bass as a weapon, sharpened with dissonance, that thrusts in practised tandem with Foster’s harp and mandolin. This rebarbative style could classify Born Heller as hard-edged avant-gardists, but what really makes this record shine are the songs that embrace melody wholeheartedly, albeit with scarred arms; “Big Sky #4” is breathtakingly intimate, and “The Left Garden” is simply one of the loveliest little will-o-the-wisps you could ever hope to hear. Incidentally, this album was produced by Paul Oldham (of the venerated Oldham dynasty). If you’ve ever been a fan of his brother’s music, don’t miss out on this brutal, beautiful album.
Saelan Twerdy

Canned Hamm
Erotic Thriller
(Boompa)
This album should be played while working out. In the ‘80s. While attempting to seduce someone. I can’t imagine at any point in my life when this has happened to me, nor do I see this scenario in my future, but if I ever attempt to create this setup then this album is what I will pop into the stereo.
Canned Hamm is Li’l Hamm, who has an occasionally wailing falsetto, and Big Hamm, who has a deep throaty voice that could possibly, if you’re into large bearded men who sing anthems about divas, be described as sexy. Their album consists of dancey pumping beats and bizarre dialog that you will either find hilarious or confusing. Possibly both. The majority of the album’s content is either what sort of women they like, or why the two of them are sexy. ‘80s-style backing music is provided for the most part by Stephen Hamm, but there is a lot of local talent tossed in on various tracks. This album is quite possibly the funniest thing I’ve heard since Lovage, but holds together well as a dance album.
Jordie Sparkle

Damon & Naomi
The Earth is Blue
(Sonic Unyon)
I hate to say it, but the dream is dead. Galaxie 500 is no more, and the art of delicate slowcore is finally starting to drift away in the hands of these stranded members. If you want to squeeze every last drop out of the scene, then this critically acclaimed album (which you may have already heard being played by the aficionados at Zulu) might be your ticket. If you’re new to the scene but not really sure where to start looking, Damon & Naomi might push your buttons, but I’d check out bands like Movietone first, who just somehow (in my opinion) pull it off better. To its credit, The Earth is Blue skillfully avoids over-production, and has strong melodies that are growing on me still. Maybe it’s due to the flexible guitar work of Michio Kurihara, of the obscure enough to be hip Japanese band Ghost, or it could be the King Crimsonesque cover of the Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” but something strange and occasionally attractive does stick out from this recording. I can’t quite bring myself to call it beautiful, though, and that’s where I feel it just doesn’t click.
Soren Bros.

Iron and Wine
Woman King EP
Subpop
Sam Beam comes at us with another version of his blissful dreamy folk pop. This time, around there seems to be urgency to his structures. His delicate progressions are altered by a slightly faster pace and lush orchestrations. Woman King as an album deals with what it says: Women, and it seems that we may have finally reached the true heart of Sam. Women are shown to be kings, lovers, fallen, virgins, life’s driving force, and they are so influential that this album has not only its first electric guitar fuzz through the soft vocals, but also explicit language. It appears that sex drives Iron and Wine, to break out a little from his sleepy-core folk to a world where “fucking” is what we do. The dirty guitars mixed with a beautifully sprawling string arrangement, paints a picture, the act of sex in its beauty and its driving necessity in human nature. However, as soon as the journey reaches a point that you never thought possible from an Iron and Wine record, it is cut short, like an amazing date would be. Lets all hope that on the full length we get asked in after the night seems to be over.
Chris Walters

Laurent Garnier
The Cloud Making Machine
(Mute Records)
Where to start? The Cloud Making Machine is music for the mentally unbalanced and those who like it that way. Don’t listen to Laurent Garnier if you wish to stay sane and keep the world in perspective. A pervading nihilistic man/machine hybrid dominates any sense you may have of a decent society and the results of such domination are, in my opinion, cold-blooded artistic intent. If you’re already not into electronic music, don’t even bother trying to get this. The cover art and liner notes are the output of either someone extremely insane, or simply a crazy scientologist like Tom Cruise or L. Ron Hubbard. As well, the production sounds stale yet alien (like a bad sci-fi movie), providing only surprise and unwanted incisions (it’s like the aural equivalent of going to a potentially sadistic dentist). Get this: you are not actually hearing any new sounds when listening to this record, only a sharp and acid-tongued composition by one of the world’s many tricksters. However, you may just enjoy it. The release kicks it like an amateur assault, but cops out by embracing style over substance.
Arthur K

The Kills
No Wow
(Domino)
Man, this album is sexy. Sexy, dirty, and always moving, but never rushing. It’s as if it was written in the midst of a motorcycle trip, late at night in a run-down motel with a carton of cigarettes and a few mickeys of JD. What I like most about The Kills and their new album, No Wow, is that they can seemingly pull all this off without even trying. It’s in their blood. While their drum machine keeps time and even adds to the overall feel, guitarist Hotel’s fuzzed-out, bluesy, at times, downright angry playing is what carries the songs and gives them their character. Lead vocalist VV possesses such a seductive, sultry voice, that you’ve got to be a eunuch not to be even a little turned on. Hotel’s low-key backup vocals complement perfectly, keeping the songs on the ground, where they belong.
While the entire record is great, it’s not until midway through, with “At the Back of the Shell,” when everything really comes together. With everything from the above-mentioned guitar and vocals to the tambourine and handclaps, The Kills show what they are capable of. “It ain’t such a thrill,” sings VV, but I beg to differ.
The Kills have a strong country influence, especially apparent in songs such as “Rodeo Town” and the closing track, “Ticket Man,” where VV does her best Lucinda Williams impression. Sure, some will complain the record is a bit samey, but I prefer to use the word consistent. This is an impressive set of songs that combine to make an album that is driving, raunchy, and yes, I’ll say it one more time, sexy.
Robert Ferdman

50 Foot Wave
Golden Ocean
(Throwing Music/4AD)
So whose voice is that anyway? Growly, powerful, explosive, mined from the quarry and cannon-balled through a wall of whiplash guitars. Kristin Hersh is guilty of wielding both. You mean Ms. Hersh of Throwing Muses? Oh yeah! Thank god that for her, getting older means rocking harder, and constantly putting out new records. This time, she’s taken two-thirds of TM, thrown in a new drummer, turned it up to 11, made it possible for eardrums to bleed, and called it 50 Foot Wave. You get her trademark disjointed-yet-catchy songs with her equally trademarked vocals, her piercing guitar work, an ass-kicking rhythm section and her own kind of wall-of-sound. This is Hersh at her loudest and angriest, heartfelt and regretful, chaotic and bitchy.
The problem is, she will always have her past to be compared to, and good as these songs are, they’re not her best. They all seem to share a similar tone and flavour, making them seem more like eleven versions of the same song rather than the distinct gems she’s capable of writing. Take University, Throwing Muses’ masterpiece. Listen to the opening chords of “Hazing” and how they seamlessly kick into the full volume of Hersh’s howl. Or the perfect pop of “Bright Yellow Gun.” Or pretty much every track, each with its own distinct flavour. Going back further, check “Counting Backwards” off The Real Ramona (the last album with Belly’s Tanya Donelly) for some classic Muses. Or “Delicate Cutters” from the eponymous first album (back in ’86!) And in 2003, Hersh got back together with her TM band-mates and put out another eponymous record, loud, heavy and really, really good. Then there’s her solo work (fuck she’s busy) including Sky Motel from ’99 that shows off her quieter, more intimate brilliance. But in the end, Kristin Hersh at her not-so-best is still better than most of the alterna-rock pretenders out there. Pick up some of the older stuff, get indoctrinated, and then see if you can resist 50 Foot Wave. I couldn’t.
Mr. Moo

Airborn Audio
Good Fortune
(Ninja Tune)
If you’re a fan of the Antipop Consortium but always had personal issues with Beans, Airborn Audio could be for you (as this is the other two thirds of the Consortium, High Priest and M. Sayyid, though if you’ve made it this far you probably already knew that, and you’ve already bought this album, and are just reading this review to check if I agree with you). As for those of you who simply read “Ninja Tune” at the top here, this only might be up your alley—that is, if you’re one of those progressive ‘Tuners who’ve been exploring the sounds of experimental rap. This isn’t Fog, though—this is a couple guys rapping mostly about themselves and about how good their shit is, and then speeding that up, slowing it down, singing in falsettos about being stars, and then throwing out backwards loops. If it’s lacking in any way, it’s that the first half of the album feels somehow too sparse to give it a solid bite. Still, half the fun of experimental music is in coming to terms with what at first sounded like a bad idea, and the second half of Good Fortune alone is worth buying the album for.
Soren Bros.

The Kills
No Wow
(Domino)
Man, this album is sexy. Sexy, dirty, and always moving, but never rushing. It’s as if it was written in the midst of a motorcycle trip, late at night in a run-down motel with a carton of cigarettes and a few mickeys of JD. What I like most about The Kills and their new album, No Wow, is that they can seemingly pull all this off without even trying. It’s in their blood. While their drum machine keeps time and even adds to the overall feel, guitarist Hotel’s fuzzed-out, bluesy, at times, downright angry playing is what carries the songs and gives them their character. Lead vocalist VV possesses such a seductive, sultry voice, that you’ve got to be a eunuch not to be even a little turned on. Hotel’s low-key backup vocals complement perfectly, keeping the songs on the ground, where they belong.
While the entire record is great, it’s not until midway through, with “At the Back of the Shell,” when everything really comes together. With everything from the above-mentioned guitar and vocals to the tambourine and handclaps, The Kills show what they are capable of. “It ain’t such a thrill,” sings VV, but I beg to differ.
The Kills have a strong country influence, especially apparent in songs such as “Rodeo Town” and the closing track, “Ticket Man,” where VV does her best Lucinda Williams impression. Sure, some will complain the record is a bit samey, but I prefer to use the word consistent. This is an impressive set of songs that combine to make an album that is driving, raunchy, and yes, I’ll say it one more time, sexy.
Robert Ferdman

The Mars Volta
Frances The Mute
(Strummer/Universal)
Face it: we could see this coming. From the 8- and 12-minute tracks from 2003’s De-Loused In The Comatorium to the marathon improvisations at live shows (jamming on “Cicatriz E.S.P.” for almost 40 minutes), it was obvious that The Mars Volta were heading far from their At The Drive-In roots into full-on prog-wank virtuoso territory. But did we expect the results to be this amazing?
With 77 minutes of music split among only 5 tracks, Frances The Mute can be seen as either a completely self-involved descent into pretentiousness, or a fantastic journey through an enigmatic blend of styles and moods. Omar’s spastic guitar riffs form the record’s most accessible parts, but the real unexpected pleasures lie in the in-between sections: John Frusciante’s solos on “L’Via L’Viaquez,” Latin great Larry Harlow’s piano, free-jazz saxophone parts, warbling electronic ambiances, and even a few short drum solos from Jon Theodore. The occasional inclusion of string and brass ensembles adds grandeur, or soft emotion in the denouement of “Miranda That Ghost Just Isn’t Holy Anymore.” As a whole, it’s pretentious as hell, but it is also such an intense musical experience that it comes across as anything but boring.
The lyrics are trademark Mars Volta trippiness—“brick by brick, the night eclipsed pricked by cuticle thorns”—and flow with the music enough to enjoy while ignoring the album’s concept. But they take on a whole new dimension if you try to decipher the storyline, which (from what I gather) includes snakes, pregnancy, and a body in the closet…or something. The title track “Frances The Mute,” released on a separate single, is supposed to “decode” the plot—but I’m doubtful of how helpful it could be with lines like the one I quoted.
So, yeah…Frances is the one of the craziest trips you can have for $10 or less, and of those trips, it’s probably the most legal to boot. So crank it, and I’ll see you in Latino heaven.
Simon Foreman

M.I.A.
Arular
(XL/Beggars)
I honestly don’t know what to say.
In expressing this lack of verbiage, a friend suggested that I start this review off with “every party I’ve been to in the last three and a half months has played at least two tracks off this album. And I go to a lot of parties.” Unfortunately, I don’t go to a lot of parties, so I wouldn’t know if this was true or not. Enough about me, though, and more about Arular.
Take Jamaican dancehall, German techno, and Japanese glitch. Throw them in a blender, along with a healthy portion of so-called world music. Layer in Maya Arulpragasam, sometimes singing, sometimes rapping, on all sorts of topics from globalization and the Tamil struggle to the seemingly incomprehensible (what the hell is a Galang, anyway?). It’s a dense album, layered with both sonic textures and meanings; “Pull Up the People” has rather an obvious message, but “Sunshowers” carries multiple themes which only make sense after repeated listens. I could go on about nuance and detail and all those silly things us music geeks love to froth about, but there’s no substitute for actually picking up a copy of the album. So go. You won’t regret it.
Gerald Deo

Montag
Alone, Not Alone
(Carpark/ gooom disques)
Amy Milan, the wonderful voice of the Canadian indie-pop sensation Stars, graces us with her vocals on a few select tracks of sprawling French techno-pop. Ahhh yes—I think that is all I really have to say. However, there is much more to this beautiful album than my secret love. In fact Alone, Not Alone is the beginning of a new onslaught of revivalist French musique. Not as full as its contemporaries and label mates M83, Montag build upon layers of blips and soft but not overbearing synthesized noise. Delicate vocals lightly add to the atmosphere of a summer day spent on the French countryside with Amy Milan beside you singing you to a lulling sleep. It appears to this reviewer that everything Amy puts her hand to will turn to gold, and it is only a reassurance when Montag is placed in the CD player beside my bed.
Chris Walters

Jordi Rosen
Lotus
(Independent)
If you were looking for the new (insert hardcore metal band name here), this would perhaps be the absolute worst album you could have found, but if that was the furthest thing from your mind when you decided Jordi Rosen was the thing for you then you are on the right track. Lotus is an incredibly cute album. It’s not deep, it’s not epic and it has no edge, but if you want to listen to about how great it is to be in love, this might be perfect. Okay, if the last album you bought was by someone who’s name included the word “blood” you’re probably gagging now, but if you haven’t been turned off by this nauseating idea, you might be interested in the fact that this album contains an eclectic mix of instruments from accordion to junk percussion. It’s sappy folk-pop, but it’s done well. Jordi Rosen might be for the very specific tastes of those who appreciate sincerity and optimism, but she will certainly satisfy those people, if nothing else. Converge fans, today is not your day. Sorry, guys.
Jordi Sparkle

CiTR

Discorder Magazine

Under Review

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