Megafaun: Bury the Square CD review (Stomp and Stammer)

The bearded harmonizers in Megafaun got quite a bit of attention when they toured the country last year, opening for Akron/Family. These North Carolina boys, with their furry faces, banjos and ethereal vocals have a serious Southern Gothic streak running through their songs, and most of the numbers on Bury the Square sound as if they’d be an appropriate soundtrack for a backwoods funeral. While the instrumentation is often quite sparse, it’s also quite overwhelming, due to the effective simplicity of circular, semi-droney passages capped off with dynamic three-part vocals. The 11-minute “Where We Belong” is the album’s obvious centerpiece, as it uses all of its extensive running time to fully expand from a simple piano passage into sonic swamp of overdriven guitars and chiming feedback … only to collapse in on itself. It’s un-self-conscious Americana, performed by musicians with enough respect for rural music’s history to use it as a jumping-off point for something extraordinary indeed.

First appeared February 2008 in Stomp and Stammer.

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Gordon Withers: Jawbox on Cello CD review (Stomp and Stammer)

For months, there was a donation jar right next to the cash register of my local indie record shop. A cute picture of baby Cal Robbins was on it, with a brief explanation of the young lad’s problem. Little Cal was diagnosed with Type 1 Spinal Muscular Atrophy, a phenomenally devastating condition that kills most kids who have it, and those it doesn’t kill, it leaves debilitated and unable to walk. Most of the treatment for SMA is considered “experimental,” and all of it is expensive. Unfortunately, Cal’s dad is in that most fiscally unrewarding career of punk-rock legend. J. Robbins, of Government Issue, Jawbox, Burning Airlines and Channels fame makes a decent living as both a musician and as a recording engineer. He’s even got insurance. But one thing he doesn’t have is the sort of funding required to treat – much less cure – such a monstrous disease. Thus, the donation jar at the cash register, which was one of many in indie record stores across the country.

This CD is sort of a musical version of those jars. D.C.-area musician Gordon Withers put together a dozen of his cello-based renditions of Jawbox songs like “Reel,” “Spoiler” and “Desert Sea” and though they sound just like you’d expect them to, they nonetheless sound like nothing you’ve ever heard before. Again, cello versions of Jawbox songs … that may be the most emo thing ever. Back to the donation jars: at some point recently, the jar on my local shop’s counter disappeared. Not because little Cal had been cured, but because some asshole had stolen it. Don’t be the file-sharing version of that asshole.

First appeared February 2008 in Stomp and Stammer.

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Kevin Ayers: The Unfairground CD review (Stomp and Stammer)

In the 15 years since Kevin Ayers’ last studio album (Still Life With Guitar), the prog-pop he pioneered in the late ’60s and early ’70s has undergone something of a renaissance. The first two albums by the Soft Machine and Ayers’ own Joy of A Toy have become touchstones for artists as diverse as Stereolab and The Arcade Fire. Ayers, however, couldn’t care less. Having retired to the south of France, he’s only recorded sporadically over the past three decades, caring little for the vagaries of contemporary music-making.

This reluctance makes the existence of The Unfairground remarkable on its own. Even more notable is the cast of characters on-hand to help realize Ayers’ new material: with members of the Ladybug Transistor and Teenage Fanclub to old Soft Machine standbys like Robert Wyatt (who has a solo album of his own recently released, the laudable Comicopera) and Hugh Hopper, Ayers is far from alone on his new endeavor. The results of the group effort make for one of Ayers’ warmest and most effective records since the ’70s. Once again, he combines sprightly melodies (the chorus of “Run Run Run” is very nearly childlike in its joy) with subtly challenging instrumentation and arrangements, and does it with a casual ease that should embarrass anyone who considered his absence a surrender.

First appeared February 2008 in Stomp and Stammer.

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Marco Benevento: Invisible Baby CD review (Stomp and Stammer)

For all of the experimental post-jazz playing Marco Benevento has been associated with – anyone who’s witnessed the fuzz-bomb power of a Benevento/Russo Duo gig understands – the approach he takes on his first solo studio album is surprisingly sedate. Accessible melody lines and fluid, rhythmic playing give Invisible Baby an almost gentle feel, and by the time the twee-pop instrumental twirl of “The Real Morning Party” rolls around with its saccharine-sticky catchiness, it’s hard to link the sounds on the disc with the downtown New York jazz scene Benevento’s associated with. Nonetheless, there’s still something deeply subversive about a pop album that relies on keys, drums, bass and no vocals to get its point across. Jazz isn’t what Benevento’s going for here; instead, he’s created a multifaceted album that benefits as much from his composition skills as it does from his facility on the piano.

First appeared February 2008 in Stomp And Stammer.

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Penelope movie review (Baltimore Citypaper)

After sitting on the studio shelf for nearly two years, this modern-day fairy tale is finally hitting U.S. screens. What’s surprising is that at no point during the many months it was dormant did it occur to anyone that Penelope’s premise is fundamentally flawed. Christina Ricci stars as the titular character, who bears the brunt of a curse placed on her old-money family many generations ago. Said curse takes the form of a pig snout in place of her nose, and, apparently, the curse can only be broken if she marries someone from an equally well-to-do, old-money family. Penelope’s histrionic mom (played with scene-chewing hilarity by Catherine O’Hara) desires nothing more than to rescue her daughter’s face–and her family’s reputation–from the curse, and thus goes about bringing in a steady stream of potential suitors. All of whom run screaming in terror from the sight of this pig-faced monstrosity.

Here’s the problem: We’re talking about Christina Ricci, who–even with a snout on her face–is far from looking like the kind of woman who would send anyone running. Plus, the snout is sort of adorable. When the predictably good-hearted loser played by James McAvoy finally arrives at the house and, of course, falls blindly for Penelope, you’re supposed to commend his ability to see past her looks. But, again, this is the woman who made an iron chain and a Confederate flag T-shirt look like aphrodisiacal lingerie in Black Snake Moan. McAvoy isn’t exactly a hero.

This required suspension of disbelief isn’t Penelope’s biggest problem, though. Despite its sweet, positive self-image story line, it’s hamstrung by its lackluster attempts at evoking magical inspiration. The set treatments are cheap and claustrophobic, and, with the exception of O’Hara’s aforementioned shrieking, all of the performances are muted to the point of being somnolent. Ricci looks distracted, while McAvoy appears to be there just for shits and giggles. The laughs are few and far between, and the characters are too thinly developed for you to build any real attachment to. A fairy tale needs to feel like a fairy tale, and though the story line keeps things appropriately simple, there isn’t enough of a sense of the fantastic to give Penelope the ethereality it needs to be effective.

First appeared Feb. 28, 2008 in Baltimore Citypaper.

Kurt Cobain About A Son DVD review (Metrotimes)

Note to music journalists: Don’t erase your interview tapes. You never know if that emo band you’re talking to about its new album may become a generational icon. Then you can use your tapes to make a movie. An insubstantial, abstractionist movie, but a movie nonetheless. About a Son is far from a typical rock doc, and while director AJ Schnack certainly intended it to be an elegant, elegiac homage to Kurt Cobain, there’s nothing —repeat, nothing — here to convince anyone that the pop-grunge icon was anything more than a self-centered, self-pitying mess. About a Son is built from three primary elements: interview tapes made by Michael Azerrad for his Nirvana book Come as You Are, a disjointed soundtrack that finally puts Ben Gibbard and Arlo Guthrie in the same sentence, and achingly beautiful scenery shots of the foggy Northwest world Cobain inhabited. The whole affair falls prey to a sense of detached hero-worship (which Cobain would certainly have coughed up a little blood at), as it seems to imply that Cobain’s legend prevents anyone other than himself from commenting on his life. Though he obviously felt comfortable with Azerrad, Kurt Cobain was no fool. He knew these quotes were being collated for a book and his young voice is plainly striving to imbue everything with some sort of greater meaning. There isn’t. Cobain was a sweet, weird dude who wrote great songs, got famous and freaked out. About a Son tries valiantly and dramatically to make a larger case than that, but, unfortunately, it ends up making Cobain look like much less of a well-rounded person than he actually was.

First appeared Feb. 28, 2008 in Detroit Metrotimes.

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Africa Unite DVD review (Metrotimes)

The main selling point of this film honoring Bob Marley may be the music, but the true highlight — and message — of Africa Unite can be found in the uplifting footage from the event it documents. Spearheaded by Rita Marley as a way to bring together the disparate, progressive voices of the African continent, Africa Unite first convened in Addis Ababa in 2005 with a series of concerts and, more importantly, conferences. Going into the horrors that the colonial powers imposed on Africa, as well as presenting ideas for overcoming their lasting effects, the documentary passages of Africa Unite contain some powerful and inspirational content. Of course, Bob Marley casts a mighty spiritual shadow over it all, and his revolutionary, pro-Africa message informs both the discussions and the musical performances. Unsurprisingly, his offspring, protégés and colleagues get quite a bit of stage time, but the musical numbers serve primarily as entertainment interludes between the more message-driven core of the film. For those less interested in the activist nature of the movie, the DVD contains 11 performances by various Marley family members, along with songs by Angelique Kidjo, Cedella Booker and the I-Threes.

First appeared Feb. 28, 2008 in Detroit Metrotimes.

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TAD: Busted Circuits and Ringing Ears DVD review (Magnet)

Of all the bands who were part of the Seattle Grunge Explosion™, TAD seems one of the less likely to garner documentary treatment. There’s still no Mudhoney movie, no Soundgarden movie, no Melvins movie; hell, other than the cash-in Nirvana documentaries, this seems to be the first band-specific look at the scene. Despite the obvious irony of calling a movie about TAD “a bit thin,” it must be said that there’s little here in the way of storyline to recommend Busted Circuits. TAD’s seminal influence on the scene, their riding of the wave of grunge-hype and subsequent legal troubles and major-label raping is interesting … if you’ve never heard any stories about “underground” bands. While it’s nice to hear the likes of Kim Thayil and Mark Arm talk about how smart bandleader Tad Doyle is and how, at one point, it was a toss-up between TAD and Nirvana in the Sub Pop spotlight sweepstakes, there’s not a whole lot here in the way of revelation. (Though it must be said that it’s a little depressing to see the physical and mental toll that the band’s journey took on Doyle and bassist/co-conspirator Kurt Danielson.) Wisely, the focus is on the music; copious amounts of live performance are included, as well as five full-length music videos as bonus tracks. When “High on the Hog” comes roaring out of your stereo again, it serves as a quick reminder as to why TAD is a pretty decent documentary subject, after all.

First appeared in the Winter (Jan/Feb) 2008 issue of Magnet.

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The YMD: Excuse Me, This is the Yah Mos Def CD review (Magnet)

Hip-hop is a genre that is, by definition, referential and, underground hip-hop is a genre that prides itself on being referentially obscure. But the noxiously smug approach that the YMD – formerly known as the Yah Mos Def – takes to serving up their pop-culture knowledge is too clever by half. The Philly “hip-hop” duo has made a trademark-infringing name for themselves by backing up their yelping rhymes with punk and indie-rock samples. It’s so very cute to sample Cap’n Jazz and Minor Threat, isn’t it? And calling a song “Jive Like Jehu” is quite the postmodern statement, right? They clearly think so. References to Ian Svenonius, Fugazi albums and Crass are littered throughout the record. All of which would be fine if the beats and rhymes weren’t so grating, clumsy and transparently fashionable. Sure, the YMD has the escape hatch of “keeping it raw like punk.” But one doesn’t have to think hard to surmise how truly “raw” the pink-Ralph-Lauren-wearing/handbag-selling guys in the YMD are when taken out of their comfortable, self-referencing indie universe and judged solely on the terms of their musical goods.

First appeared in the Winter (Jan/Feb) 2008 issue of Magnet.

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The Whigs: Mission Control CD review (Magnet)

To anyone surprised that the lo-fi catchiness of the Whigs has blossomed into full-blown rock majesty on the group’s second album, remember this: the band is a power trio from Athens, GA. The charmingly shambolic approach of the group’s debut was less an aesthetic declaration than a function of necessity; with the big-budget, Rob Schnapf-produced Mission Control, these three make it clear that their intent is simply to distill the better elements of the last 20 years of rock & roll into a powerful concoction. This means a little chamberpop flavor here (“Sleep Sunshine”), a little open-chord Replacements riff there (“Hot Bed”), some anthems (“Already Young”), some Clash homage (“Production City”) and, in the case of the title track, all of the above. Schnapf’s production hand deftly manages to resolve the differences between the group’s fist-pumping ambitions and the dueling influences of roots-rock and indie jitters. Like a more muscular and dangerously drunk frat-boy version of Band of Horses, the Whigs occasionally hit on moments of poignancy (“I Never Want to Go Home”), but most of their time is spent reinventing the classic rock wheel in a rather self-aware fashion.

First appeared in the Winter (Jan/Feb) 2008 issue of Magnet.

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