SCORE: 9.3
My friend recently had a dream about me in which I had died. She was hysterical, and waiting for someone to bring help, to bring medicine; no one ever came. In a strange fit of unthinking passion, she kissed me. I woke up.
It strikes me that sometimes only over-the-top reactions matter. At funerals, cold, calculated responses might be easier for the person giving them, but certainly not for the one receiving them. Instead of turning the other cheek and letting it go, one's real catharsis might be to "break some deserving teeth," to quote the mantra of Joseph Gordon-Levitt's jaded character in Brick. Subtlety can be nonsense, and unlike Hollywood, there isn't enough boldness in music anymore. As aural scientists Hybrid display in their fourth full-length, subtlety is once again the furthest thing from their compositional minds. And what a triumph of expression it is.
Ever since an absurdly career-defining tour with Moby in 2000 and the endlessly disconsolate and haunted Morning Sci-Fi three years later, Mike Truman and Chris Healings have both been attempting to live up to fresh soundscapes like "Marrakech" and "Finished Symphony." Fortunately, there's never really been anyone doing their style of breakbeat, a kind of mad, breathless Peter Gabriel symphonic lurch to thick 4/4 beats; thus, their niche position of off-accented electronica remained fortified. The castle's impenetrable now: with Disappear Here, Hybrid's made the biggest change in their sound in 14 years with the core addition of vocalist and songwriter Charlotte James. Indeed, the album is so dominated by her pacing prowess that the album could very well have been listed under her name.
"Empire," the album's opener, is most like their previous work, a long winding track with moments of low cello-and-violin stasis right before another explosion of dancemania. It's the very next track, guested-on by electronica-vocalist superstar Tim Hutton, where it's evident what a long, long weekend at the spa Hybrid's had. One of the most organic and directional beats of Hybrid's career, punctuated by a metallic bassline reminiscent of Faultline or Propellerheads' "Bigger?," gives Hutton the necessary mountaintop he needs to wretch over and over again, "can you hear me now?" As the album continues, "Green Suit Shell" and "Disappear Here" give the album somewhat of an melodic mood swing, full of twinkling, major-key cadences and samples replete with little clicks and whirs panning across the stereo.
The real standout here is "Formula of Fear," a dense, crushing bullet train with the tagline, "you only hear me when you're miles away." It's felt just that much more powerfully behind the deft orchestration of Andrew Skeet. As the album progresses with wonder after wonder of sounds, it fades away on words: "as numb as I am, it's all in my hands." This is a bold, exploratory 70 minutes of the height of human emotion, all behind the best production Hybrid's ever done. Lyrically lovely, vocally masterful, and electronically sumptuous, shake off your numbness and get this album in your hands; it's the first real polished electronica album of the new decade.
~ Ben Fisher
Friday, July 23, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Abandoned Pools – Humanistic (2001)
SCORE: 8.4
During one of Tommy Walter's press interviews for Humanistic, he commented on the name of his project Abandoned Pools. "On the record, there's a lot of things about suburban life and that melancholy, and it just reminded me of a pool in the yard of a house that had been drained out with weeds growing over the side." The idea sounded simplistic: make a record that targets suburbia and its endless set of contradictions. The idea was foolish. Thousands of bands had already tried this, to varying degrees of success. Indeed, Charlotte's 90's-darling Ben Folds had made (and continues to make) a career out of observations on the largest and least marginalized area of Western society. Commercials specifically target and stereotype them, networks aim for them, and religious groups exist endlessly monetarily secure because of them. It's in this incredibly oversaturated market that Tommy Walter, the one-man force behind Abandoned Pools, manages to project something that hardly any other songwriter has: reality. Everyone from the block is able to sing songs about their life in suburbia, about high school and its vast set of contradicting emotions, but most suffer from a sickening sense of self-awareness. Walter's aware; he also graphs himself as part of the never-ending circle that traps suburbanites.
The album opens with the single "The Remedy," which manages to walk the fine line between emo and emotional. Dark, reverberated piano chords punctuate a harshly delivered diatribe, and continuing through "Mercy Kiss," Walter sticks on an angry bent. But, as he does throughout the album with clever track-ordering, the tone is broken up by "Start Over," a tune that laments humanity per monotony. Tommy Walter graduated USC with a degree in Music Composition, so it's no surprise that he approaches rock (as seen on "Blood" and the perfect "Sunny Day") from a textural standpoint. Clarinets, horns, and the brilliantly brooding drumming of none other than Josh Freese punctuate an album that only falters in one track, the out-of-place "L.V.B.D." You'll be hard pressed to find a better song to drink to than "Never," or a better arranged song than "Sunny Day" in alternative music. One of the finer no-frills rock efforts of the decade.
~ Ben Fisher
During one of Tommy Walter's press interviews for Humanistic, he commented on the name of his project Abandoned Pools. "On the record, there's a lot of things about suburban life and that melancholy, and it just reminded me of a pool in the yard of a house that had been drained out with weeds growing over the side." The idea sounded simplistic: make a record that targets suburbia and its endless set of contradictions. The idea was foolish. Thousands of bands had already tried this, to varying degrees of success. Indeed, Charlotte's 90's-darling Ben Folds had made (and continues to make) a career out of observations on the largest and least marginalized area of Western society. Commercials specifically target and stereotype them, networks aim for them, and religious groups exist endlessly monetarily secure because of them. It's in this incredibly oversaturated market that Tommy Walter, the one-man force behind Abandoned Pools, manages to project something that hardly any other songwriter has: reality. Everyone from the block is able to sing songs about their life in suburbia, about high school and its vast set of contradicting emotions, but most suffer from a sickening sense of self-awareness. Walter's aware; he also graphs himself as part of the never-ending circle that traps suburbanites.
The album opens with the single "The Remedy," which manages to walk the fine line between emo and emotional. Dark, reverberated piano chords punctuate a harshly delivered diatribe, and continuing through "Mercy Kiss," Walter sticks on an angry bent. But, as he does throughout the album with clever track-ordering, the tone is broken up by "Start Over," a tune that laments humanity per monotony. Tommy Walter graduated USC with a degree in Music Composition, so it's no surprise that he approaches rock (as seen on "Blood" and the perfect "Sunny Day") from a textural standpoint. Clarinets, horns, and the brilliantly brooding drumming of none other than Josh Freese punctuate an album that only falters in one track, the out-of-place "L.V.B.D." You'll be hard pressed to find a better song to drink to than "Never," or a better arranged song than "Sunny Day" in alternative music. One of the finer no-frills rock efforts of the decade.
~ Ben Fisher
Intake – Moments + Definition (2009)
SCORE 5.8
Remember for the past sixteen months when Muse was promising us a Van Dyke Parks transformation, the same kind that had propelled flaccid bands like Silverchair to new heights with orchestrations of grandiose proportions? And when it came (haha), The Resistance turned out to be one sticky, unwarranted Matthew Bellamy wet dream?
So now that I've moved past that sickening analogy, let me say that the moral of this story is that a band soloized is a band Oasis-ized. The numerous examples of Aerosmith, Fleetwood Mac, and Queen becoming solo vehicles to their respective stars at the end of their tenures are well documented (and eulogized for some goddamn reason rather than becoming cautionary tales). Steven Tyler needed Joe Perry; Lindsey Buckingham needed Stevie Nicks—and Freddie Mercury sure as hell needed Brian May. What would A Night at the Opera have been otherwise? Oh yeah. Innuendo.
But not all wet dreams are bad. Last Tango in Paris was a particularly compelling one, despite the inclusion of some Bertolucci butter. Ben Folds' Rockin' the Suburbs was arousing to say the least. And who could forget that little side affair Jimmy LaValle had called The Album Leaf?
Intake is a local Dallas band that consist mainly of two sets of brothers: the Martins, Ethan and Jonny (electric, and bass guitars); and the Camachos, Johan and Jonathan (drum set, and lead vocals/background vocals/percussion/acoustic guitar/electric guitar/programming/lyricist/arranger). As you can see, one of the Camacho brothers runs the band, which means that the success of Intake rests solely on his massively ambitious shoulders. Well, it turns out that, to make a rude comparison, it's more Videodrome than Sex, lies and videotape—and by that I mean, sure, it's sex, but it doesn't sparkle.
The album opens on "i... and YOU" in an exciting 9/4 signature, with "Pagan Poetry"-esque twinkles and exciting stop-and-go songwriting, but gets bogged down with a tinny guitar that lacks punch. "Isn't It Beautiful" is a standout track, with multi-layered keyboard work that shimmers through its effortless chord changes. It's excellently textured with its guitar-delay effects and background harmonies, and excites its entire run time. Unfortunately, the album is a failure to deliver on the promise of its opening two tracks over the course of the next six songs, only broken up by the Anberlin-inspired "Chasing Love." Lyrically, "Vigil" and "Better Day" are full of clichés that would make Sandra Bullock proud, ultimately hollow and unable to connect to the listener. Whenever there's a great moment of programming or a pleasurable vocal slide such as on "Inside of Me," there is a poorly chosen 80's guitar sound or a weak moment of production when you wish the drums and bass were just stronger (or, there's just an unfortunately chosen metaphor like, well, "Inside of Me"). "Lady Wisdom" has the best vocal and lyrical moments in the entire album, deftly balancing moments between richness and minimalistic solos. The album ends as it started, creating a brilliant soundscape with the instrumental "+ Definition" and an all out (and magnificently realized) homage to Björk with "Moments" gives us a glimpse into the compositional talent of Intake's leader, Jonathan Camacho.
Standard melodic-rock outfits such as Intake always have a band or two that they are clearly enamored with, and Earthsuit/Mute Math and Björk seem to be the foie gras of Mr. Camacho. And when it comes to textures, drum changes, and fills, Intake is at its best. But a lispy voice unsuited for rock and lyrics that never reach into a mythology or cultural divide for inspiration leave Intake's debut full of heart, but without much blood.
~ Ben Fisher
Remember for the past sixteen months when Muse was promising us a Van Dyke Parks transformation, the same kind that had propelled flaccid bands like Silverchair to new heights with orchestrations of grandiose proportions? And when it came (haha), The Resistance turned out to be one sticky, unwarranted Matthew Bellamy wet dream?
So now that I've moved past that sickening analogy, let me say that the moral of this story is that a band soloized is a band Oasis-ized. The numerous examples of Aerosmith, Fleetwood Mac, and Queen becoming solo vehicles to their respective stars at the end of their tenures are well documented (and eulogized for some goddamn reason rather than becoming cautionary tales). Steven Tyler needed Joe Perry; Lindsey Buckingham needed Stevie Nicks—and Freddie Mercury sure as hell needed Brian May. What would A Night at the Opera have been otherwise? Oh yeah. Innuendo.
But not all wet dreams are bad. Last Tango in Paris was a particularly compelling one, despite the inclusion of some Bertolucci butter. Ben Folds' Rockin' the Suburbs was arousing to say the least. And who could forget that little side affair Jimmy LaValle had called The Album Leaf?
Intake is a local Dallas band that consist mainly of two sets of brothers: the Martins, Ethan and Jonny (electric, and bass guitars); and the Camachos, Johan and Jonathan (drum set, and lead vocals/background vocals/percussion/acoustic guitar/electric guitar/programming/lyricist/arranger). As you can see, one of the Camacho brothers runs the band, which means that the success of Intake rests solely on his massively ambitious shoulders. Well, it turns out that, to make a rude comparison, it's more Videodrome than Sex, lies and videotape—and by that I mean, sure, it's sex, but it doesn't sparkle.
The album opens on "i... and YOU" in an exciting 9/4 signature, with "Pagan Poetry"-esque twinkles and exciting stop-and-go songwriting, but gets bogged down with a tinny guitar that lacks punch. "Isn't It Beautiful" is a standout track, with multi-layered keyboard work that shimmers through its effortless chord changes. It's excellently textured with its guitar-delay effects and background harmonies, and excites its entire run time. Unfortunately, the album is a failure to deliver on the promise of its opening two tracks over the course of the next six songs, only broken up by the Anberlin-inspired "Chasing Love." Lyrically, "Vigil" and "Better Day" are full of clichés that would make Sandra Bullock proud, ultimately hollow and unable to connect to the listener. Whenever there's a great moment of programming or a pleasurable vocal slide such as on "Inside of Me," there is a poorly chosen 80's guitar sound or a weak moment of production when you wish the drums and bass were just stronger (or, there's just an unfortunately chosen metaphor like, well, "Inside of Me"). "Lady Wisdom" has the best vocal and lyrical moments in the entire album, deftly balancing moments between richness and minimalistic solos. The album ends as it started, creating a brilliant soundscape with the instrumental "+ Definition" and an all out (and magnificently realized) homage to Björk with "Moments" gives us a glimpse into the compositional talent of Intake's leader, Jonathan Camacho.
Standard melodic-rock outfits such as Intake always have a band or two that they are clearly enamored with, and Earthsuit/Mute Math and Björk seem to be the foie gras of Mr. Camacho. And when it comes to textures, drum changes, and fills, Intake is at its best. But a lispy voice unsuited for rock and lyrics that never reach into a mythology or cultural divide for inspiration leave Intake's debut full of heart, but without much blood.
~ Ben Fisher
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