Mmmm... scottish...

Thank you Glasgow. You have given us so much, and while you might not be Manchester, Brooklyn, London, you’re still like a big music scene cities’ almost as cool little brother. Franz Ferdinand, Glasvegas, Snow Patrol, and of course Camera Obscura, all burst forth from your loins. The latter of course just birthing their fourth record, My Maudlin Career.

While there is nothing self pitying their new album, Camera Obscura could be seen as sentimental to their own career. The album celebrates all the best points of their sound that they have delicately crafted over the last decade. They aren’t necessarily breaking the mold, but they also refuse to simply sit back and re-write the old stuff. They know what works, and it ain’t broke, so there is no fixing required.

Now when you think of Glasgow you may not exactly think sunny bright eyed music, well neither does Camera Obscura. They are Scots who clearly are sitting on piles of 60′s pop records. The tracks bounce between slow gorgeous tracks of heartbreak to bubbly girl group poppers. Opening track (and first single) “French Navy” falls in the second category, all snappy drums and a big fat chorus. Meanwhile “James” is a lement on lost love so pretty you can’t imagine why anyone would ever leave this woman. The star of the show is Traceyanne Campbell’s voice. In the heartbreakers, she’s never sounds scourned, just hurt, but strong. In the dancers, she sounds so positively lovely and delighted, you suspect you might be the one she’s in love with. When she’s sad (which she doesn’t want to be again, as stated in “My Maudlin Career”), you wanna punch the guy for hurting her, and when she’s seemingly happy (like in “The Sweetest Thing”), you want to be the guy playing guitar in a canoe while she sings holding a parasol and bobbing her head. There’s even tracks like ”You Told A Lie” which could be snuck onto a She & Him album almost effortlessly.

This album might now be a revolution, but it sure is nice. It’s like if every Stars song was sung by Amy Millan and they had a hardcore fascination with the late fifties and sixties. Beautiful indie pop for kids just as sad as me that the Organ broke up (and always wondered what would happen if they had a mutant lovechild with the Pipettes and Belle & Sebastian).

Don’t Be Caught Without:

“French Navy”, “The Sweetest Thing”, “Other Towns And Cities”

Harriet was sweet as hell ad Neil was very witty... witty indeed.

Art by Sara Hudak

Undeniably adorable seven headed Welsh (they just live there actually) monster known as Los Campesinos! breezed through Philadelphia for their third and most triumphant visit yet. Lead singer Gareth regailed the crowd with the stories of their first 2 disastrous stops (one ended with stolen tires, and the other being largely ignored in a bad neighborhood). Well, third times the charm. Openers Sky Larkin were lovely. Sweet pretty english rock’n'roll that makes you snag a cd at the merch table. Then Ponytail….see my whole other review for that trip.

Him! Him! Just him... dancing...

The seven (4 boys, 3 beautiful girls) took the stage claiming their stakes on instruments from violin to glockenspiel (2 of them actually, but only one A key to share). The first 2 were a slow kickstart, but again, 3′s the magic number and the crowd began to loosen up. Each member intricately weaved their part in and around the other six’s creating even more spirited takes on the studio versions. The boy/girl vocals were just as infectious and coy as the record, perhaps even more so when seeing the dynamic of the two primary singers. On one hand there’s Aleks, absolutely gorgeous, all smiles and cutesy dance moves. A lovely counterpoint to Gareth’s more spastic nature that’s also mirrored lyrically. Just about everything about them onstage can sum up their music, and attitude it exudes. Clever, fun, and dynamic. The stage banter eliciting much laughter (response to an audience member’s plea of “i love the bass player” was dryly “I don’t love you”). The instrumental intro to “You! Me! Dancing!” became a giggly inpromptu take on a Pavement song yelled out by the audience at Gareth’s request. Much dancing about stage (and in the audience) ensues, as they tore through highlights from the 2 album deep (and one song off an early EP) catalog. You can tell these kids are having fun, and the exuberance spills all over the crowd in an infectious outbreak of have a good time. By the end Gareth had leapt into the crowd and shook it down to the cheap seats. Guitarist Neil stayed strong continuing to play as he crowd surfed , and everyone came together for “Sweet Dreams Sweet Cheeks”. Monitors turned on end and mounted by the singers while the rest of the band linked arms around each other and shouted along with the crowd the title’s mantra. Danceable good time with some talented kids from across the sea, who clearly (despite what they say) love their audience.

clearly at most of the paint

Look, I’m sorry, but this needs to be done. Someone has got to put their foot down. I will gladly take whatever flak you throw at me for this blog/review, because every word about to spurt forth is solidly true. The band Ponytail is effing awful…and that is being generous. Lemme try again: atrocious? unbearable? pointless? an abomination?

All true, but still hardly capturing the true essence of their astonishing disregaurd for people’s ears. The scene of the crime was at the Los Campesinos show at the TLA (see review). The opening band AND Los Campesinos (whom we interviewed) were utterly BEAMING about their joy to have Ponytail on their bill, practically gushing about how they have been looking forward to them for ages.

That simple fact almost hurts more than how much they truly and oh so thoroughly sucked. Two lovely bands, brimming with talent, and solid songwriting, genuinely patting borderline morons on the back for a job well done, seriously impressed with the steaming pile of aural crap they produce. That’s like Sean Penn talking up the acting talents, and spewing adulation for Paris Hilton…damn near offensive.

So while we’re on the subject of offensive, allow me to expand on what this beautiful concoction of a set they played sounded like. They walk out on the stage looking every bit the over the top version of cliche hipster, and I secretly wished down deep that they didn’t sound how they looked. As usual, wishes never come true. The dual guitarists were no doubt talented, even used some really interesting effects…however anytime the riff seemed catchy, or perhaps that the song was going to come together and begin making sense, they would destroy any semblince of sounding even remotely listenable, and eraticate the glimmer in your eye that they were talented with a barrage of pointless white noise and spatterings of out of time thrashes. It’s as if they could sense that the song was about to get good, and in an all out call to arms to be too goddamn hip, and o-so-avant garde, they put a bullet between the eyes of listenability. Now for the cherry atop this delicious sundae: the “vocals”. During their soundcheck (which to be perfectly honest I’m not sure when it ended and a song began), the singer made annoying weird yelps into the mic, in what seemed like a common move to check/test levels. The thing is, unbeknownst to us….this was her singing, the “lyrics” if you will. Dolphin sounds is actually a pretty spot on way to describe it, or you know that akward period when babies start to learn how to talk, but are only kinda mumbling annoying sounds that vaguely resemble words? Like that, but not cute coming from adults getting paid to call it creative, or art. Not a single real word was uttered for 40 min-ish (sans one or 2 silly, or baffling stage banter comments, “we have peace more songs” for example). One guitarist even threwg in some, I want to say background vocals, but birds being tortured is far more accurate. The sounds didn’t even change! The lead singer (sorry, I refuse to learn their names) had an arsenal of roughly 6 noises, that she shuffled around, and used in every damn song. EVERY SONG! SAME SOUNDS!

I wish I could say that maybe their particular musical experience relies more on the energy or stage show, but they are largely uneventful to look at, much like the music, 2 moves in the bag of tricks, and never leave home without it. So I declare Pitchfork, you are clearly waaaaayyyyy too drunk with power if white noise that occasionally sounds like a real song with a mutant toddler-dolphin yelping overtop is what you are passing off as the best new music. Thanks for getting my hopes up jerks, why can’t you just be pretentious with a conscious?

Ok, how the hell long has Mark Lanegan been smoking? Had to have popped out of the womb smoking a Marlboro Red, cause this guy has always been grizzled…and sweet Moses it sounds badass! The man is certainly no spring chicken though, having founded Screaming Trees in the late 80′s and causing a ruckus in the Seattle music scene with a thing they called “grunge” along with a few little known bands such as Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, and Nirvana (all of whom at some point were collaborators). Then, throw in a few solo albums, joining Queens of the Stone Age (as a 3rd vocalist), add a little Soulsavers, the Gutter Twins, and you would only be tipping the edge of his career iceberg. Then of course there’s the lovely Isobel Campbell, who solo albums under her belt as well, packs a fierce little history herself as the other half of the indie darlings Belle & Sebastian.

So what could this cocktail possibly taste like? Delicious! Mark’s low gravel tinged vocals twisted into, or held up by the sweet, syrupy smooth beauty of Isobel’s is like a good whiskey, it might bite a little, but it goes down smooth. The music itself is reminiscent of Murder By Death’s gothic Americana leanings, with a heart of classic country (you know, like back when it wasn’t horrible Top 40 nonsense). Lanegan adds the haunting dark edge while Campbell still makes you feel like everything is gonna be alright. The first handful of tracks are a little inconsistent, but hang in there, once you hit the sexy dueting vocals of “Come On Over (Turn Me On)”, with all it’s lush strings, the song’s characters aren’t the only ones aroused. At 17 tracks, it’s hard to not have filler. These tracks could soundtrack you whittling on your porch, so it’s a damn shame they didn’t carve this down to a tighter album (at least one of the instrumentals could’ve gotten the boot). There is beautiful solo efforts from each here (Campbell with “Hang On”, and Lanegan with “Asleep At The Sixpence”), but the best tracks showcase both players trading vocal duty and in the process making the other sound that much better. At points Isobel’s voice can be lost too much in the background, but if you have the balls to tell Mark Lanegan to back down…good luck. Either way, get some Black Label whiskey, a porch, and enjoy.

Is it me, or does the Condo Fuck’s album Fuckbook sound like it was recorded with a portable microphone in my mom’s garage? It bears mentioning that the band’s members are the same fellows that make up the indie sensation known as Yo La Tengo, and the album name is a reference to YLT’s album Fakebook (which would make this a side project, a whole new band, or simply just a cruel joke…?) This low-fi hodgepodge of covers is a hard one to wrap your mind around, given that it’s nearly impossible to even discern what the hell the lead singer is crooning about half of the time. Between the inaudible vocals and poor recording quality, Fuckbook doesn’t initially stand out as anything special, but after a few listens, the album grows on you, and you’ll realized there are a few gems hidden among the fuzzy guitar solos and raucous rhythms. A relatively unknown Beach Boys track titled “Shut Down Part 2” is an unexpected favorite that the Condo Fucks twist into a guitar-driven anthem that would fit right in in a movie like Pulp Fiction. Richard Hell’s “The Kid With The Replaceable Head” is an ear-catching cover that oozes the classic in-your-face-and-I-don’t-give-a-fuck punk rock swagger that makes you want to bust out your leather jacket and turn the volume up loud enough to piss off your neighbors. “Dog Meat” is the only other song worth listening to, and after that, all the buzzing and rambling starts to induce a migraine. Aside from the few decent tracks that adequately capture raw, garage rock spirit, Fuckbook will most likely turn out to be one of those albums that just take up space on your iPod.

Ok, so raise your hand if you’re tired of every white kid and their cousin picking up a fucking harmonica and thinking they could be the next folk or blues legend. Well, more than likely there are no hands up because somebody keeps buying these fucking records. There’s no argument in doing so (more music = happier planet), but it’s so hard syphoning through all the bullshit to find the best ones. Well, here is the diamond in your trash bin. elvis Perkins’ debut LP, Elvis Perkins in Dearland, is set to  debut March 10. These guys have gone mostly under the radar for a while and, while my heart tends to be angry over such things, it knows very well that hype zines like Pitchfork and Paste will explode in excitement over being the first ones to hear such a great piece of music. Somehow diffusing the cacophony of shit that usually floods folk bands of the “modern” era, Elvis Perkins gives you exactly what you came for: multi-layered, aurally pleasing, and ultimately very fucking good music. I’m not gonna sit here and attempt to tell you what they sound like: save to say that this is what a lot of other folk bands should sound like. Thank you Elvis Perkins, for setting the bar that much higher.

Chances of you seeing this band on Pitchfork’s top list:

Is it me or does every good female singer-songwriter (Feist, Emily Haines, Neko Case) remind you of a Nora Ephron soundtrack?  Perhaps it’s because, like Nora’s films, they allow you to believe in some sort of beauty? Some sort of majestic wonder that all humans can fall into without worry of their everyday life, whether it be called love or fate or whatever? Well, Joan as Police Woman does exactly all f these feelings but evokes them in a much less imposed manner. Her voice alone creates something whimsicl; akin to a breezy night in Manhattan with someone you love. At times, she uses the same voice to infuse with pain and heartache to evoke a cavalcade of emotion (kind of like when you break up with someone, but for some reason you feel hurt). If anyone is ever wondering why there aren’t anymore Feists or Metrics in this world, then look no further. But I assure you, Joan as a Police Woman, or Joan as Feist, or Joan as an incredible fucking musician, has a staying power all her own that will outlast the subtle comparisons that first come to mind.

What They Say:

“To Survive” rakes in the Best Of’s ‘08
AMAZON.COM BEST OF 2008
ITUNES INDIE SPOTLIGHT BEST OF 2008
Q MAGAZINE – ALBUMS OF THE YEAR
UNCUT - ALBUMS OF THE YEAR
ITunes SINGER SONGWRITER SPOTLIGHT
Amazon.com (#12)

PRESS LOVES JOAN!
Word Magazine:
“Joan is Carole King in a little black dress, Burt Bacharach with balls and Lou Reed without the mean streak, all rolled into one.”

Paste Magazine- Editors Pick
On To Survive, her second release under the moniker Joan As Police Woman, she casts the same torchy, seductive, chamber-pop spell that made her debut “Real Life” such a pleasure, only doing it even more effectively this time.

Under The Radar:
Despite a few lapses into the conventional, Wasser has crafted the deepest and most profound album of her career.

PopMatters:
“Joan As Police Woman are in this for the long haul.”

Spin:
“For her second album, she flexes more ambition, and the results are rewarding”

Drowned In Sound:
“’To America’ comes across very much a modern take on West Side Story replete with fine vocal performances from its central pair, sweeping strings and ebullient brass, it’s a jubilant finale”

Uncut:
“Voice and piano are to the fore, but Wasser’s orchestrations pulse and ebb like living things.”

Q Magazine:
“To Survive, however, ignites enough fireworks of its own”

NY Daily News:
“The singer shows her secret strength in the risks she took in her performance, and in the reach of her compositions. She shares those qualities with Antony, Newsome and Buckley. All of them hold nothing back when they perform. But when Wasser lets go, she does so with a sound all her own.”

NY Times:
“Joan as Police Woman, creates dizzying, jazz-steeped rock music.”

Blackbook:
Even if you haven’t heard Joan As Police Woman” Wasser, chances are you have listened to records she’s appeared on. On her spare second solo album, her many former colleagues and influences are present, particularly Antony and the Johnsons. But this is her record and it is Wasser’s lone, tender voice that cossets tracks such as the wrenching title song, “To Be Loved,” and its emotional doppelganger, “To Be Lonely.” Recalling the more rueful sides of Feist, Roberta Flack, and a smidgen of Cat Power, To Survive is not an album for the noonday sun. But, oh, night never felt so sweet.

Venus:
“Loaded with guitar, violin and keyboard infused torch songs that channel Heart’s Dreamboat Annie one moment and Nina Simone the next.”

World Wide Press LOVE for Joan!
Q Magazine –  4/5 stars
The Independent – 4 stars
The Guardian – 4 stars
The Observer - 4 stars
NME – 8 out of 10

Chance of you claiming you love these guys before they were cool:  

Titus Andronicus’ debut album, which was re-released this past January, is sure satisfy anyone who yearns for the punk of old. Busting out of a small Jersey town, Titus Andronicus brings a fresh feel to a genre that is struggling to survive. However, what makes the disk so special is not simply the positive use of old punk trappings but the creative embellishments used to support Patrick Stickles (singer, songwriter, guitarist) compelling narrative. With lyrics portraying the events of Stickles’ youth, the album has the ability to resonate with anyone who knows what it’s like to be young. As a whole the album is track after track of kick ass melodies that are perfect for anyone who isn’t afraid to turn up the volume and have a good time.

Songs to recommend:
“My Time Outside the Womb”
“Upon Viewing Brueghel’s Landscape with the Fall of Icarus”
“Titus Andronicus”