Melisma Spring 2005 | Issue 2

Melisma March 2005

20 0 5: A N ew Gol den A g e?

Al s o i ns i d e: Chi n es e Roc k, C o a c he ll a , I nte rv i e w : Jon D im sd a le

A Student Publication of Tufts University - Vol 1 - Issue 2

Melisma

Contents From the Editor

In a recent series of articles in the Observer, titled “There is no Accounting for Taste,” Alex Kobzik yearns for the days of hair metal, because as he claims, “the technical intricacy of hair metal bands has generally not been seen in a long time.

Hair metal bands were larger than life, and their audience was able to latch onto that grandiosity.” After reading this I decided that I should scrap all the articles that are written here, and force everyone to instead write 500-800 words on the greatness of Pyromania.

I mean that record was boss, and obviously since, as Mr. Kobzik claims, “Nirvana destroyed the grandeur of the rock and roll of the 1980s,” new music just isn’t worth writing about.

Mr. Kobzik also credits music with being an effective tool in being able to create moods, and he feels that modern music needs to not only embrace their

influence over moods, “but it should provide intellectual stimulation as well.” And honestly I can’t agree more, I mean as I watched Motley Crue's music video, “Girls! Girls! Girls!”, not only was I put in a great mood, but I was definitely being stimulated… intellectually. Does it really get any better than guys in make-up and leotards prancing around on stage?

This was obviously the Golden Age of music… and it’s really sad that Nirvana ruined everything… I mean honestly flannel and depression… that’s not a good combination for music, and it’s definitely not intellectually stimulating.

Give me bright lights and glam, I demand instant gratification!

So you really shouldn’t bother to read any of the following pages of this magazine… because every band that is covered in here, well I mean they’re no Bon Jovi. Wow modern music

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sucks… The mainstream’s just too mainstream, and I mean there just is no worthwhile alternative music out there, because they’re just too alternative.

Even with new releases from such acclaimed artists as Bright Eyes, 50 Cent, Beck, and Spoon in 2005… well the future looks bleak, because none of these people can shred like Eddie Van Halen can. So rather than actually going out and trying to find good new music, instead I think I’m just going to settle for listening to my old Poison albums… I mean “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” is so deep… man think about it… every rose… thorn… wow, Brett Michaels is like the modern day Shakespeare.

-Andrew Chira

Are you a Tufts musician? Submit your upcoming events to us: MelismaMagazine@ gmail.com

E - m a i l A n d r ew.Chira@tufts.edu f o r i n f o r m a t ion on how to get involved.

March 2005

Made By Editors in Chief: Andrew Chira Layout: Andrew Chira Gordon Cieplak (Design) Contributors: Aditya Nochur Colin Legerton Zach Robbins Erica Ghotra Nicolle Kuritsky Colin Green Adam Arrigo Andrew Chira Nate Haduch Dave Kant Alexis Ong Gordon Cieplak Rachel Olanoff

Melisma Magazine is a n o n - p r o f i t s t u d e n t p u b l i c a t i o n a t Tu f t s U n i v e r s i t y. T h e o p i n i o n s e x p r e s s e d i n a r t i c l e s , f e a t u r e s or photos are solely t h o s e o f t h e i n d i v i d u a l a u t h o r ( s ) a n d d o n o t n e c e s s a r i l y r e f l e c t t h e v i e w s o f t h e e d i t o r s o r t h e s t a ff.

Tufts University is no t r e s p o n s i b l e f o r t h e c o n t e n t o f M e l i s m a M a g a z i n e . I f y o u w o u l d l i k e t o s u b m i t a l e t t e r t o M e l i sma Magazine, please send i t t o M e l i s m a M a g a z i n e @ g m a i l . c o m . P l e a s e l i m i t y o u r l e t t e r t o 4 0 0 w o r d s o r l e s s .

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Melisma

Melisma

Features

Volume I, Issue 2

Local Bands Aditya Nochur

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Rock Star Over China Colin Legerton

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Lion Rapping With Richard The Ill Jack Robertz

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Coachella Erica Ghotra

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Interview: Jonathan Dimsdale Nicolle Kuritsky Tuvan Throat Singing Colin Legerton

Reviews

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California Guitar Trio Rock Somerville Colin Legerton

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Bloc Party: Silent Alarm Colin Green

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Joseph Arthur: Our Shadows Will Remain Adam Arrigo

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The Books: Lost And Safe Andrew Chira

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The Decemberists: Picaresque Nate Haduch

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Bright Eyes: Digital Ash In A Digital Urn Colin Green

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Bright Eyes: I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning Dave Kant

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Edan: Beauty And The Beat Alexis Ong

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Blood Brothers Live In LA Gordon Cieplak

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Chemical Brothers: Push The Button Alexis Ong

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Spoon: Gimme Fiction Rachel Olanoff

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Local Bands- Check It

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Beantown’s Finest Up and Coming Bands

By Aditya Nochur So if you’re reading this and you’re a Tufts student, there’s a 75 percent chance that you’re not from Massachusetts – and possibly an equally high chance that you’re looking for some cool local bands to listen to. Well, look no further. The following four bands all have strong Boston roots/connections, released awesome albums in 2004, and are well deserving of your time, hard-earned cash, and respect. So, in the words of the immortal Ali G: “Check it.”

Ey es Li ke Kn i v es

T h e E xi t A W i l h e lm S cr e a m Read Yellow – Radios Burn Faster (Fenway Recordings) Eyes Like Knives – Slow Distractions (Dopamine Records)

A Wilhelm Scream – Mute Print (Nitro Records) Who said being punk means being unable to play your instruments? Blazing metal influenced guitar leads, technical chord progressions, and lightning-fast drum fills abound on Mute Print as A Wilhelm Scream cram more parts into a single song than most punk bands do over the course of an entire album. Combine this with dark personal lyrics and throaty melodic vocals, completely devoid of hackneyed emo clichés and whiny posturing, and we have ourselves a winner! Formerly known as Smackin’ Isaiah, A Wilhelm Scream has been kicking out the punk jams since 1993. For Mute Print they signed to Nitro Records (founded by Dexter Holland of Offspring fame), and it’s great to see them starting to get the recognition they deserve. With a new album already in the works, these guys could really break out in 2005, and I strongly recommend them to those who like iron, tin, and other metal with their daily dose of punk/hardcore.

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There are some pretty glaring similarities between these two bands, so I’m going to review them together (and thus save myself the trouble of writing another paragraph).

Both play noisy, feedback-laden rock music in the vein of the Pixies and Sonic Youth, both have female members who contribute vocals (like the aforementioned Pixies and Sonic Youth), and, ummm… they’re both from Massachusetts (like the Pixies… sense a trend here?) and they both released their debut full-length albums in 2004. Anyway, enough about the Pixies and Sonic Youth. On Radios Burn Faster, Read Yellow blast out riffs that would make At The Drive-In proud; on Slow Distractions, Eyes Like Knives incorporate dark ambient textures a la …Trail of Dead.

These bands may not have the most original sounds, but they’re still damn good – and considering they’re only on their first albums, they definitely have bright futures ahead.

R e ad Ye l l o w

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The Exit – Home For An Island (Some Records) Ok, so these guys technically aren’t a Boston band – but Beantown definitely got this NYC-based trio off the ground, as their guitarist and bassist met and first started jamming here. The Exit blend indie, punk, and reggae/dub styles like The Clash and The Police, and on Home For An Island, they refine these diverse influences into a more cohesive sound than their energetic 2002 debut New Beat. From the garage-rock of “Let’s Go To Haiti” to the poignant acoustic “Soldier” to the tripped-out delay sounds of “Italy,” this band can do no wrong. Seriously, having seen them five or six times, I can imagine what it must have been like to see Jimi Hendrix. Not only does their guitarist look like him, but The Exit echo the late legend by jamming and extending their songs at will with a musical chemistry that must be seen to be believed, overpowering their audience with waves of effects-laden sound and improvised rhythms.

These guys truly feel the music they’re playing, both physically and emotionally. Unpredictable, exciting, and just awesome – The Exit own your soul. So check them out, then run along and tell all your uber-cool indie friends that you knew about them before anyone else did.

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Check out th e se ba nds o n th e roa d: A Wilh em Scr eam: 4/2 1* - Th e Emp r es s Ba llr oo m , D a n bur y, C T 4/2 2* - Th e Statio n, Po r tlan d, M E 4/2 3* - Th e Liv ing R oo m, Pr o vi de n c e , R I 4/2 4* - Do wn tow n, Fa rmin gd a l e , N Y 4/3 0 - B ambo oz le Fes tiv e, As b ur y, N J * w/ Bo y Sets Fir e, The Sleep i n g Eye s Lik e K niv es : 4/1 7 - H i- D iv e, D env er, C O 4/1 8 - Thu nd er h ead B re wer y, K e a r ne y, N E 4/1 9 - U rb an H er mit, Siou x F a l l s , SD 4/2 0 - The 8 th N ote, M ilw au k e e , W I 4/2 1 - H ig h N oo n Saloo n , M a di s o n, W I 4/2 2 - Lo ga n Squ ar e Au ditor i um , C h i c a go, I L 4/2 3 - K eny o n Co lleg e, G ambi e r, O H 4/2 4 - Lu ck y Fou r s , M id dleb u rg , PA 4/2 5 - G ala xy H u t, A r lin gto n, VA 4/2 6 - War eh ou s e Nex t D oo r, Wa s hi ngt o n, D C

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Features

Rock Star Over China

Features

Twenty Years of Rock in the People’s Republic The year is 1986. A grand concert, \staged in Beijing is being televised throughout the country to celebrate the “Year of World Peace.” Out of the legions of pop stars singing Taiwan and Hong Kong-style ballads steps Cui Jian, a Beijing Philharmonic Orchestra trumpet player, dressed in peasant garb. Guitar in hand, he belts out his newest composition “Yi wu suo you” (Nothing to My Name) to an unsuspecting crowd. They go wild. A self-taught guitar player, Cui Jian is not China’s first rock musician,

but he is destined to be known as the godfather of Chinese rock. Soon bands are springing up all over. In 1987, Hei Bao (Black Leopard – perhaps the most successful of Chinese rock bands) forms, followed by Tang Chao (Tang Dynasty – China’s first heavy metal band) in 1988, Yanjing She (Cobra – China’s first all-female rock band) in 1989, and countless others in the years that follow.

This sudden boom of rock music is even more remarkable in light of the fact that a mere decade prior China had

By Colin Legerton

not yet heard the Beatles. Under Mao’s brutal Cultural Revolution, the only music allowed was that which praised the communist state, and certainly no Western rock could do that. Only under Deng Xiaoping’s opening up reforms of the 1980s could rock enter into China and spark such a musical revolution. But for a movement that owes its beginnings to the changing politics of the time, Chinese rock oddly never took on a political flavor. While Cui Jian played among the students in Tiananmen Square in the protests of

"Under Mao’s brutal Cultural Revolution, the only music allowed was that which praised the communist state, and certainly no Western rock could do that."

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Who’s The Boss of China? This guy right here, that’s who.

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1989, his political activity is certainly the exception in Chinese rock. And he continues to pay dearly for it, as, except in rare circumstances, the government to this day consistently prevents him from staging concerts in the capital.

But for the rest of the bands, who didn’t take on politics (and even for Cui Jian, when outside the capital), the early 90s were a Golden Age. Huge stadium festivals were staged; some of the bands even toured Europe and the United States. But, amazingly, interest waned as quickly as it had initially exploded, and some experts now point to 1994 as the death of rock in China.

Considering how poor China had been, and how quickly the economy had just begun to boom, it’s not too hard to understand why many would ignore the arts and instead focus on these new economic opportunities.

But the early 1990s were a poor time to abandon rock and roll, as the best was surely yet to come. While the first bands of Chinese rock were talented, and certainly worthy of the attention they received, the genre was still in its infancy, and no new ground had really been broken. Cui Jian was eclectic, but his sound could usually be easily compared to a Western counterpart, frequently Bruce Springsteen. Hei Bao often resembled Bon Jovi, but at times drew comparisons to the greats of 80s hair metal – Poison, RATT, Quiet Riot, and other victims of excessive hairspray. Tang Chao, while occasionally throwing in some clips of traditional music, mostly sounded like Iron Maiden or Metallica.

To be sure, resembling the greats (and hairmetalers) of 1980s Western rock is nothing to be scoffed at, especially in such a new rock scene.

But music thrives on originality and creativity, and this rock movement

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had yet to hit its creative peak. By the later 1990s, after rock had already been declared dead by some, this situation began to change. With their first release, Zi Yue (Confucius Says), produced by none other than Cui Jian, found a voice entirely their own. If they can be compared to anyone in the Western world, it is only Primus, an entirely unique band in their own right.

Zi Yue is distinctive for their creative blend of hard-hitting rock, traditional Chinese elements, and creative and satirical lyrics. With their lyrics about life in Beijing, use of traditional percussive instruments, and all-out rocking nature, the two albums of Zi Yue are completely unique and fun listens.

Chunqiu (Spring & Autumn), formed and lead by guitarist Kaiser Kuo, follow in the footsteps of Tang Chao (which Kaiser left more than a decade after founding), but add their own original twist. Kaiser had tried to infuse some classical elements in Tang Chao’s songs, but only truly succeeds with Chunqiu. In starting a metal band with three guitarists, he provided a lot of room for imagination, and it is not wasted. Through their creative interplay, the three guitars can cause even the most reluctant of heads to bang with gusto, or can alternately recreate the beauty of a traditional string trio, often within the same song. (Think of the sitar opening of Metallica’s “Wherever I May Roam.”

Except more developed. And without a sitar.) Even without recording an album, or securing a record deal, they stand among the Beijing bar scene favorites, and not without reason.

Ershou Meigui (Second Hand Rose Band), in addition to the regular rock lineup, boasts one fellow who plays a variety of classical wind instruments.

Far from a cheap gimmick, the wind instruments add a unique texture to the songs and complement the lead guitar masterfully. Ershou Meigui also leads the way in fashion, featuring a cross-dressing lead singer. While this surely must be a gimmick, he often adopts Peking opera-style intonations in his singing, somewhat justifying his female opera character-like outfit.

Between the wind instruments and bizarre singing style, it’s not hard to imagine some receiving Ershou Meigui unenthusiastically, but the vast majority find that their incomparable style is incurably addictive.

While both the history and the current scene of rock in China are infinitely more complicated and diverse than presented here, these are the few bands that I personally feel are the most distinctly “Chinese” in all of Chinese rock. I don’t expect any of these CDs can be found in the Medford area, but if you know anyone who’s going to China in the near future, have them pick up some of these gems for you.

(After all, illegal bootlegs are cheap!)

You can also send in requests for any of these bands to my WMFO show – The Healing Colors of Sound (Monday nights 12-2am).

A Chinese major, Colin spent last year studying abroad in Beijing. Much to his parent’s dismay, his definition of “studying” involves one beer in one hand and de vil horns in the other. Colin also currently resides in the Chinese House, future home of Real World Medford: When people stop being polite, and start getting Chinese. On Thursday nights at 10:30, check local cable listings . Next Episode: The Chinese House gets lost in Chinatown!

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Features

Lion Rapping With Richard the ill Jack Robertz reporting...

Coachella

Music and Sun in the Middle of Nowhere

By Erica Ghotra

By Jack Robertz Move over Guster, there is a NEW hip hop group in ye ol’ Tufts Treehaus.

And in the opinion of this nocturnated music writer, they are grand. They call themselves, “That hot new shit you’ve been hearing about,” or “THNSYBHA” for short, and are comprised of Applefloss Stinkfingaz, Stacks Bundle (aka Doggy Bags Danny, Dapper Dan), Honeydew Herman Monster (aka Honeydeww H. Monsieur), the P.O.T. (aka Piece of Trash), and 4-Knob swings by the pad on the sabbath to rap about G-d. Adam did their production, though recently he forgot how to turn off the metronome of his groovebox, thus crippling the mainframe of the operation.

One college sophmore described their freshman outing Womb Service which dropped last week as a “heartwarming combination of cocksuredness and vulnerability.” I told her that I could see where she was coming from. Then I slept with her ‘cause I told her that I knew the band. Later that same day, Melisma sat down with Honeydew-- self proclaimed “lyrical flamethrower/ team barbequist--” to ax him a few questions: Melisma: It seems that you have several names. What would you like me to call you?

Honeydew: Yo, you know, I gotta allude jakes these days, so you can call me Richard the Lionhearted. That’s that 12th century incognito shit.

M: Alright, Richard can you describe for me your musical background?

I heard somewhere that you started rapping when you were nine.

R: When I was nine I didn’t have no beats or shit to do my shit over. My dad used to beat my moms though.

He was an awful man, truly the worst.

Know what I’m sayin? Anyway, this shit started happenin on the regular, so much so that it even had a rhythm.

If you listen to my early work you can hear the animosity in my voice, especially since I was rapping over my own parents’ screaming and fighting and shit.

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M: That must have been terrible for you.

R: Sure was. But look where I’m at now. Just bought my old lady a Crow Vic. M: How did THNSYBHA come to fruition?

R: Stacks Bundle and I met through my man Applefloss who had just put out that single “Blue Liquor.”

your whole dynamic-- dare I say, to the stars?

R: No don’t say that. Plus the guy forgot how to turn his motherfuckin’ metronome off. I can’t rhyme over that click click click type bullshit.

Goddamn.

M: There have been several allegations recently that you and the rest of your crew took part in some elicit..

R: My man, that’s all the time that I got. I wanna shout out to Kate Strassman, The Wallabee Champ, Ted at Domino’s, Husky 1-time, Gap Kids, myself, Eric Bergman and Tyler Moore, and all those jobless fools who just got layed off from GE-- clean yourselves up motherfuckers.

It was not the best interview I had conducted by any means, and I never expected to hear from Richard the Lionhearted again. But on February 14th I found myself reading a card ornately decorated with glitter and feathers and baring the following message Roses are red Violets are blue I am so dope My jewlary costed 22 (grand, motherfucker).

Richard the ill: 2 + 2 = RAPscalion

M: “We drink blue liquor-- let me see you squiggle bitch.”

R: That’s the one. Piece lived nearby too and was big in the Miami scene.

His pops was famous for building yachts, so he always was throwing parties and whatnot. Fool done drowned motherfuckers overboard and shit, but you didn’t hear that from me.

Thing is, my man is dangerous on the mic too.

M: And 4-knob? What is his status?

R: That kid is way above all of us. He gets his verses from someplace else.

I think I saw him in the sea of balls at that Chuckie Cheese’s on Krinshaw Ave. the other night.

M: Adam’s production is pretty space aged. I’ve found that it really elevates

Features

I was touched, truly, I was. These guys were sweethearts. Take for example, Dapper Dan’s lyrics on the album’s opening track “Unmarked Bills (Buffalo, Walton, y goats gruff)”: “I’m in that ho as I call Dominoes/ hit her from behind cause the girl don’t mind/ nothing fancy just a large thin crust/ use her back for a table until I fuckin bust.” I played an advance copy for my great-uncle and he said that this song in particular reminded him of his days back in 1921 when he hung out by the resevoir with Keith and Alec. I didn’t know that they had Dominoes back then. Please, Please, Please, pick up the album if you haven’t already. They sell it in the meat department in Jumbo Express and behind Richard Brautigan books at most libraries. Well, until next time: JACK ROBERTZ IS ON VACATION!

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unique environment, held at Empire Want to get away for a few days Polo Field it is like a loud oasis in the right before finals to see some of the middle of nowhere with palm trees hottest bands in the middle of the along the perimeter of the venue and desert? The sixth annual Coachella faint mountains dotting the landscape.

Valley Music and Arts festival will At night spotlights along the field shine be held April 30-May 1 in Indio, and meet at a point in the center of sky.

California. With 85 bands slotted to There is plenty of alcohol sold at the play on five stages over the course of event and the hipsters are well trained two days, even the biggest music snob cannot complain. Rolling Stone named the launch of Coachella one of the 50 greatest moments in rock history last year.

Just a few of this year’s headliners include Coldplay, Nine Inch Nails, Wilco, Weezer, Spoon, Bright Eyes, The Chemical Brothers, Keane, and Rilo Kiley. Boston’s very own Dresden Dolls are also scheduled as is The Arcade Fire who graced the Hotung last November. Other special features include the reunion of a few 80’s bands Bauhaus and the Cocteau Coachella: Go for the Music, Stay for the Twins, reminiscent of last in hiding their favorite drugs despite year’s Pixie reunion. Check out http: //www.coachella.com for the full lineup security pat downs. Don’t be like Andy Dick last year, however, who was and an audio player featuring some of arrested for marijuana possession. the artists you may be unfamiliar with.

There’s also lots of post-prime I would not miss Four Tet, Matmos, hippies selling hemp bracelets and Autolux, Eisley, The Fiery Furnaces, displaying odd art. The past two years The Faint, or Pinback either. there has also been “a happening” with Last year the festival sold out both nights with over 60,000 people braving fire breathing babies deploring societies moral decay like a large metal allegory. the 100+ temperatures. There is talk of This year promises TRASHed: “An kiddie pools at this year’s event, but Exhibition of Recycling Can Art.” that is merely speculative. There will Everything is art to the likes of the always be an ample supply of bottled Coachella crowd. water available for purchase. In fact, I can tell you from personal last year Jose Galvez from Ozma sold me a bottle. But be prepared to sweat as experience that there will be unparallelled live performances. I you elbow your way to the front of the never expected Radiohead to live up to tents to see your favorite act. expectations in front of such a massive In spite of the arid environment, sea of people on an outdoor stage. music maniacs of all ages, sizes, and Instead, you could have heard a pin numbers of tattoos/piercing coalesce drop between their songs the audience to form one music mob. It’s truly a was so mesmerized or suffering from

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sunstroke. There was also a noteworthy Belle and Sebastian set at sunset last year where Stuart Murdoch ruminated on his encounter with the local nuns at church that Sunday morning. There are also plenty of opportunities to meet artists, whether you spill your beer on them in a crowd or you wait in line to meet some of them in the Virgin tent.

Two years ago I gave Ben Folds a hug and my friend conned him into signing his shirt that said: “To Shawn, a far greater musician than I. Ben Folds” This is no cheap venture of course. Maybe if you stop drinking every weekend you could save up the $150 for a two day pass, but then you also have to fly out to LA, then bum a ride into the middle of nowhere, and figure out where (or with whom) you are going to sleep on Saturday night. This is STD’s all immediately preceding reading period too.

It is not an easy venture, only the most intense (or rich) music mavens should attempt to go, but it’s unlike any other experience you will ever encounter. You can hob-nob with musicians, smoke up with interesting strangers, and sweat until it induces a slight hysteria. There will be nudity, smelly port-a-potties, and some of the most amazing live performances you will ever have the opportunity to see. I am sure you heard about Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips crowd surfing in a bubble. Coachella is the closest thing our generation comes to Woodstock, it is one of those events you are going to want to tell your kids about. Be adventurous, dip into the savings account, and regale in your instantaneous cool status, by being able to say, “Yeah, I went to Coachella.”

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Jonathan Dimsdale

Features

An Interview with a Tufts Musician

By Nicolle Kuritsky

"‘Real life’ hit me in the face without warning last year with some deaths in the family and close encounters with cancer, and my perspective on things has really changed since then."

Jon Dimsdale is a pianist and composer whose pieces are not really applicable to a specific genre. His first full length album, Smoke on the Horizon, demonstrates his wide array of piano talent. The album’s thirteen unique tracks are perfect to listen to for any mood. I had the privilege to interview Dimsdale of his new album and his history with the piano.

How long have you been playing the piano, and what made you start?

Describe your musical training.

I started playing classical piano when I was seven years old, but I didn’t really enjoy it that much for the first seven or eight years – fortunately my parents never let me quit playing. I was good but I had to work hard against the grain and practice for a long time every day. Growing up, piano was never as cool as playing guitar and just by nature of a piano’s immobility, I didn’t really play with or in front of other people except at recitals and competitions, when everything was always formal and tense. After taking some jazz classes and lessons at UCSD and

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joining a few different bands with some friends, I decided to quit classical piano because I felt too confined. I found a great composition teacher and threw myself into composing; when I left for Tufts, I found another teacher at the Berkelee School of Music, and the two of them have helped me enormously.

How did your musical style develop, what were your influences and role models?

I’ve definitely been influenced by all the music I’ve studied, especially late impressionist composers like Satie and Debussy. My parents were always listening to records on the Windham Hill and Narada labels when I was growing up, which are where I draw the strongest influences from. Guys like David Lanz and George Winston were huge inspirations for me. I loved those records they put out; each one was a piece of art, from the album cover to the liner notes. The music itself was different from what I’d grown up playing too, rebelling against the traditions of counterpoint and classical form. I loved how new age music gave itself the freedom to create atmospheres

and soundscapes. Unfortunately, I think New Age/Smooth Jazz piano gets a bad rap these days – there’s this stigma of cheesy background music played by guys with long hair that’s hard to shake off; sometimes I wish Yanni never happened.

My style developed more concretely as I began to realize what I valued in music. New Age music generally models itself too much after the structure of a pop song (verse-chorusverse-bridge etc.) and doesn’t usually have the complexity of a classical piece. The first few pieces I wrote followed that simple structure, but they didn’t really present a challenge and since then I’ve tried to do things differently. I like to think of each of my compositions as a brief journey evoking different emotions and moods, one in which a verse or chorus will come back in at a later time only as a reminder of where the listener has come from. I love playing with harmonies and voicings, and also blending together blues, classical, jazz, ethnic and pop music. More recently I’ve begun to get into improvisation

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too, especially Keith Jarrett, and my concerts have really reflected that change in that each performance is a different interpretation of my music.

Another thing that’s helped me mold my music has been identifying what I don’t like about contemporary music and then avoiding those elements in my work. I don’t want to come across as a stereotypical New Age pianist whose music is just played in the background.

I think my music has a more natural tension to it than other new age piano that’s used for meditation or yoga. My pieces aren’t necessarily black and white in their moods; they all have a spirit to them that rises and falls.

There’s this idea that the faster a musician can play, the better he is.

Music should NEVER be about how fast somebody can play; a lot of jazz is so impersonal with all the rotating solos of instrument after instrument. There’s something to be said for technical ability, but that should never extend beyond the realm of live performance.

Recently it seems like a lot of instrumental albums have been written on the superficial basis of technique; there’s nothing wrong with them, because everybody likes to hear solos, but that type of music just isn’t for me.

Playing in bands has been a lot of fun in the past, but so far I enjoy having full control of songwriting more.

Although lyrics and a vocal line add a potentially deeper connection with the listener, there are way too many songs with terrible accompanying lyrics. I would never want to make that sacrifice. Different people attach different meanings and memories to the same piece I’ve written because there are no lyrics to tell them what the song is “really” about. The song titles might give you a hint, but I like to keep things open to interpretation.

How would you describe your debut album?

I’m still trying to come up with a new genre term to describe “Smoke on the Horizon” – new age or smooth jazz is too vague. I blend together the vibrancy of jazz, the intricacy of classical music, and the contemplative nature of new age to create my own sound. For the moment, I’m calling myself ‘contemporary classical.’

These days it’s hard try to make it as a musician unless you can be

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pigeonholed into a marketable pop consumer product with a 2 year shelflife.

Are you doing anything to promote it?

For the next six months until I come back to the states, I won’t really be able to push or promote the CD too much outside of relying on word of mouth.

So check out my website (www.jon athandimsdale.com), you can listen to excerpts from the album and order the CD online from a great site called CDBaby.com What inspired the title of the album?

The title “Smoke on the Horizon” refers to the past year. ‘Real life’ hit me in the face without warning last year with some deaths in the family and close encounters with cancer, and my perspective on things has really changed since then. The title refers to that moment when things start to take a serious turn for the worse, but you still have time to change the outcome. With so many things in the world that are What is your goal as a musician?

My goal as a musician is to be myself. It sounds so cliché, but I can’t think of a better way to put it.

Although I buy more CDs every year than most people I know, there are a lot of things I can’t stand about the direction in which modern music is going. Music, particularly mainstream pop, is becoming so shallow and superficial these days, bands are way too overproduced, and nobody really takes risks anymore with experimentation. I don’t think there’s anything worse than a band that can’t change and mature their sound. I’ve already begun to move away from my old sound and have been incorporating a lot of flamenco, blues, and soul to the pieces I’m working on right now.

My other goal as a musician is to connect with the listener. I was saying this earlier, but since my music is all instrumental and there are no lyrics, people identify with my pieces in a lot of different ways. For me, composing is my way of keeping a journal; I go sit down at the piano and pour my life into my music.

What are you doing now in Spain and what are your future endeavors?

I’m abroad in Spain for my junior year, and absolutely love my time here

so far. I’ve started learning flamenco piano and its technique and rhythms are completely foreign to me. So it’s kind of humbling starting over from the beginning, barely being able to play flamenco music – but it’s refreshing too; I’m excited to see how my experience here will be reflected in my future compositions. I’ll graduate in 2006 and after that, I have no idea what I will do. I’m going to give music my best shot, and after my next album I’d love to start working with a few other musicians in a trio.

Piano needs to be changed the way it’s taught. Classical piano is rightfully the foundation of any other type of music a pianist might pursue, but in order for it to survive in the coming years, I think that it has to embrace the organic nature of music. I’ve never liked the narrow-minded pressure of always striving for perfection in performances of classical piano – there’s no pleasure for me in playing a piece that so many others have played in the same exact manner and style over the centuries, because there’s no opportunity to really be unique or original. Contemporary music, especially when live, embraces all those mistakes, accidentals, discordant or atonal notes and chords, even if they’re unintentional. Jazz and classical are taught so differently that it’s almost not even the same instrument. It’d be great in the future if more teachers began to mix the two types together so kids could be fluent in both.

With keyboards getting lighter and cheaper, I don’t think piano will be such an immobile and socially inept instrument in the future. But piano’s image needs to be changed. In the pop world, people like Ben Folds, Tori Amos, Gavin DeGraw, Norah Jones and Alicia Keyes are starting to make piano cool again for wider audiences. But I don’t know of a solo pianist who can appeal to a large and diverse population. Now that fusion is exploding on the scene, with a little more experience in some different types of music and a few more years of composition under my belt, I hope to be able to do just that.

Nicolle spell s h er na me wit h two l’s, I say pota to, y ou say potato... let’ s c al l th e wh ole thing off

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Features

Low as a Frog, High as a Bird A Brief Introduction to Tuvan Throat Singing

By Colin Legerton To the immediate northwest of Mongolia, in the harsh climes of Siberia and just outside the city of Kyzyl, sits an incorrectly placed monument to the “Center of Asia.” The residents of this “Center of Asia” are some 300,000 Tuvans. While Tuva has not appeared on a world map in 60 years, and the nomads that populate it are unknown to most of the world, the place has particularly special appeal for fans of music everywhere. After all, where else does one find those who can sing multiple notes at the same time? That is the magic of Tuvan throat singing. With such a unique musical phenomenon, mere words can do little to explain and nothing to prepare you for actually hearing it, but nonetheless, a short description is surely warranted.

Every sound that we make with our voices naturally has overtones. Khöömei (the Tuvan word for throat-singing) works by isolating and highlighting specific overtones, and has three main styles. Sygyt is the highest and brightest of the three, using the highest register of the voice. Khöömei (as a specific style, not the general term) is a little softer and muffled. Kargyraa is the lowest of the three, producing not only overtones, but an undertone as well. Numerous other styles also exist, but these are the primary ones, and written descriptions of the others mean little without having heard them.

Depending on the skills of the singer, each of these styles can produce as many as two separate overtones in addition to the fundamental, for a total of three simultaneous notes coming from one singer. The basic sound of khöömei is something like a man

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moaning while whistling at the same time. To those who are unfamiliar with the style, it’s hard to believe that all the sounds are coming out of one source, and that’s what makes it an entirely unique art form.

Traditionally, khöömei is sung by

Huun-Huur Tu: Metal Gods

one person, either self-accompanied on one of several traditional string instruments, or while on horseback.

But recently, Tuvan throat singers have begun to become more adventurous.

Huun-Huur-Tu plays as a four man band, rearranging traditional songs for the new setup as well as writing their own material. Kongar-ool Ondar has performed with blues man Paul Pena (Genghis Blues Soundtrack), and bluegrass-jazz outfit Béla Fleck and the Flecktones (Live at the Quick). A band called Yat-Kha has put out a series of albums, beginning with Yenisei Punk, in which they mix traditional Tuvan music with metal, rock, and pop. A

new band, Alash, who may be able to tour the States in late 2005, also plays Tuvan rock in addition to more traditional styles.

But, it needs to be stressed again that khöömei has to be heard. And luckily at Tufts, we have the resources to hear it. When I saw the band HuunHuur-Tu perform at our local Somerville Theater in November, I was immediately hooked, and quickly obsessed. Unfortunately they are not currently touring (nor is any Tuvan band), but their albums are easily acquired, with good representation even as close as Tufts’ Music Library. In addition to the Music Library’s collection of Huun-Huur-Tu and various Tuvan compilations, I highly suggest Genghis Blues (film in Tisch, soundtrack in Music Library), a fascinating documentary about Paul Pena, a blind blues singer who taught himself khöömei after hearing it on his short-wave radio. The film tracks his journey to Tuva where he competed as the only Westerner in a national khöömei competition. He went on to win both the kargyraa division and the audience award, and win the hearts of countless Tuvans. Besides showing the landscape of Tuva and countless great singers of khöömei, the film is full of great blues-khöömei fusion by Pena. It was his description of khöömei in the song “What You Talkin’ About?” that spawned the title of this article.

Khöömei may be one of the last truly amazing types of music that’s still unknown to the majority of the world.

And as easy as it is to find, even on our very own campus, it doesn’t have to remain that way.

Melisma

The California Guitar Trio Rock Somerville

Reviews

CG3+2 at Johnny D’s 2/3/2005

By Colin Legerton

Moriya of Japan, has no members from the “red” and the “iguana” was harder ‘Twas a beautiful Thursday night California. But it was in California that to differentiate). And to everyone’s in Somerville as my friend Dan and I delight they played a stunning array they first formed together as a band in made our way to Johnny D’s to watch of devocalised covers, ranging from 1991, after initially meeting at Robert the unparalleled California Guitar the Doors to Yes to Beethoven to the Trio. Thanks to Johnny D’s 21+ policy, Fripp’s (King Crimson) Guitar Craft Mahavishnu Orchestra. Even over so workshops in England in the late 80’s. neither of us had actually been to the many diverse styles, the full power of Spurred on by Fripp to stretching the place before, and we weren’t sure what the song came through each time. to expect. What we found Near the midpoint of was an establishment, the set, those of us who more restaurant than had doubted the power bar, perfectly suited for of Pamelia Kurstin’s live acts, and devoid of theremin, were any horribly placed pole pleasantly surprised similar to the abomination as she joined the band at the Paradise. On stage, on stage for a creative next to an unmanned rendition of “Miserlou” drum set, was a woman and a rockin’ jam. This waving her hands over culminated in Paul and a wooden box with two Pamelia trading licks large antennas. “What on between the guitar and earth is going on?” Dan theremin, and finally exclaimed. As it turned Pat challenging her to out, that was Pamelia recreate drum fills on Kurstin, theremin player her instrument. All in extraordinaire, and all, it was a jam without opening act of the night. an equal.

Though we, and perhaps The main highlight much of the audience, of the show at Johnny were too confused to be D’s, which I’m sure suitably impressed, her is the highlight of time for greatness was yet most shows, was the to come.

California Guitar Trio and their field of dreams... stunning three guitar The Trio along with limits of their instruments, the Trio has (sans-bass and drums) rendition of special guests Tony Levin (Peter spent fourteen years transcending both “Bohemian Rhapsody.” Hideo turned Gabriel, and half of all recordings expectation and genre. the microphone towards the everby anyone ever – seriously, look it On this particular night in enthusiastic crowd, who all belted out up) on bass and Pat Mastelotto (King Somerville, they busted out favorites the familiar words, but our poor singing Crimson) on drums, soon took the like “Melrose Ave.” and “Zundokocould do nothing but detract from the stage to a much louder roar of applause Bushi” (complete with bits of King beauty of their version. Though to than should be reasonably expected Crimson’s “21st Century Schizoid Man” everyone’s dismay the show eventually from such a small establishment. And thrown in). They treated us to tracks had to end, shortly after the final they quickly launched into rocking from the new album Whitewater: such encore, more than 2 1⁄2 hrs after the much harder than three acoustic guitars songs as “Cosmo Calypso” (earning its show first began, each of the musicians should reasonably be allowed to rock. title through its two distinct “cosmo” found his way back out to the bar area The California Guitar Trio, and “calypso” sections) and “Red to mingle with fans, sign CDs, and put consisting of Paul Richards of Utah, Iguana” (here the distinction between a great ending on an excellent night.

Bert Lams of Belgium, and Hideo

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Reviews

Bloc Party

Joseph Arthur

Silent Alarm (Wichita Records) For those readers feeling a little low, seeking desperately a quick and dirty cheap thrill, perhaps a minor vindication of your status amongst The High Society, preferably one that will result in neither addiction nor lingering sores, here’s the solution: invent a Time Machine. Seriously, it’s that easy. In this Time Machine, one could cross not three but four dimensions of space and time, arriving at the Newbury Comics in Burlington, MA circa December 28h 2004.

Now, go inside and ask if they carry “any Bloc Party.” The employee will appear nonplussed. “What?” he will inquire, “Is that a band, or something?”

Repeat the name, patiently, provide the spelling (“it’s like, you know, a voting bloc?”), explain that they’re an English group, you saw their video on late-night MTV2, etc. The employee will depart for a moment, only to return shortly thereafter with the information that, no, they don’t have it, it’s not even “in the computer.” Granted, you’ll end up leaving the store with the new Bjork record, but you’ll do so with the satisfaction of having out-hipped a Newbury Comics store employee.

Granted, it’s the Newbury Comics in Burlington, but the aforementioned thrill was only promised to be a cheap one.

Unfortunately, sans Time Machine, this exchange becomes more improbable with each passing day, especially after the band in question, BLOC PARTY, was featured not only on a recent NME cover but also a recent Pitchfork band profile and even a mention in Newsweek. The odds of encountering our uninformed salesclerk will be less than zero once the group finally releases stateside their much-anticipated debut, Silent Alarm, March the 22nd.

Indeed, after about a year of gaining praise overseas, opening for the likes of Interpol and The Futureheads, Bloc Party serves up a lucky thirteen tracks of sheer dynamism for American ears.

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Bloc Party first garnered attention after Franz Ferdinand handpicked them to open at a Domino records festival in the UK. One need not work too hard to hear certain similarities between the propulsive, oft-danceable rhythms featured on Silent Alarm, and those of the aforementioned Scottish media darlings.

Tracks such as “Positive Tension” feature down-stroked guitars that explode from simple premises into exhilarating climax.

For those individuals who got off on the blistering “rock” of “Jacqueline,” but

otherwise found the Franz’s proclivity toward saccharine effervescence offputting, Kele Okereke’s pleading vocals are a cue to wide-eyed relief.

Backlash? www.buddyhead.com lumped the group amongst the likes of the Killers and the Faint within its “20 Worst Records of 2004.” The trouble with that distinction is that the same faux-retro-dance nonsense, which lends “alternative radio” airplay to a derivative major-label act like the Killers, is largely absent from Silent Alarm. The nowubiquitous four-on-the-floor + skiffing hi-hat does make an appearance on the disc’s first single “Banquet” (which one could hear in the background to VH1’s ‘Strange Love’ promos), a track which cribs its chord progression from “Smells

Reviews

Our Shadows Will Remain (Vector Records)

By Colin Green

Like Teen Spirit.” Note, however, that one would not realize this similarity, that aforementioned progression, an admittedly excellent one, buried as it is under great swaths of Bloc Party’s soonto-be-definitive playing style, until they have listened to “Banquet” at least every day, at least six times a day, for about a week. Let this serve as a testament to the fact that, upon acquiring a copy of the tune, one is inclined to play it at least every day, at least six times a day, for several days on end.

While their name might suggest a record chock full o’ polemics, the militaristic march and catchy chant of “The Price of Gas” offers the lone trace of anything resembling politicking. On the whole, Bloc Party splits their debut between the harder-rocking numbers (“Banquet,” “Positive Tension,” “Luno”), and some truly lovely music (“Blue Light,” “This Modern Love,” “So Here We Are”). Even as it oscillates between the aggressive and the plaintive, Bloc Party provides a consistently impressive record, especially for a debut. In any event, Silent Alarm is certainly more buoyant than, say, Disintegration.

Still, Bloc Party exhibits all of the atmospherics of a vintage 1989 Cure release, Russell Lissack and Okereke’s dueling guitars making full use of your stereo’s twin outputs. Admittedly, there are moments where the group can be a bit overzealous in their use of burping synthesizer noises. Nonetheless, one encounters on Silent Alarm a new group who recognizes that the two critical components of any worthwhile music are, once and for all, hot beats and delay pedals. Thus does Bloc Party employ this revelation to thrilling effect.

God Bless Bloc Party, reads a t-shirt offered for (British pound symbol) 12 at www.blocparty.com (pay for yours in American dollars when the group stops by the Paradise on April 5th). God Bless Bloc Party, indeed.

Melisma

By Adam Arrigo

It depresses me. Who receives commercial success and who doesn’t in the music business. Some artists inherit massive audiences and consumer frenzies after a single poignant debut (see Franz Ferdinand) while some sell album after album to a small, but well-defined following (see Will Oldham) – it’s absolute chaos. You can par it down to marketing, production, live reputation, or divine fatalism, but in the end it seems to have very little to do with artistic credibility or talent (see the genre of pop punk). Take an artist like Joseph Arthur, for example, who, after releasing four critically acclaimed albums (he was even nominated for a Grammy) has achieved relatively little commercial success. Well, that’s fine, I don’t want the rest of the world to know about Joseph Arthur – I’d much rather keep him all to myself. Well, now you know about him too, so let’s just keep this between you and me, ok?

That said, Joseph Arthur has released his fourth full-length album, Our Shadows Will Remain, the stark, brooding followup to 2002’s elating Redemption’s Son. Following his trend of getting progressively better with each album, Shadows finds Arthur in a dark, ruminative moment, evoking moods of disarming gravity with subtly apocalyptic undertones.

If Redemption’s Son was a light-hearted night of drinking, Shadows is the dark 4: 00 AM hour spent sprawled over the toilet.

Leaving the once uplifting songs like “Let’s Embrace” behind, Shadows bears a much more claustrophobic mood, where hopeful yearnings for romance and freedom have been replaced by a post 9/11 retreat to pessimism, guilt, and intrapersonal conflict.

In “Puppets,” Arthur sings “Hearts crack like canes as children break the spider’s legs/Strays out in our yards of buried bones and boulevards/I wanna try to get away from everybody else” over an electronic beat and lonely backing vocals.

As always, Arthur stays true to his production style: acoustic-based folk buried under raw doubled guitars, subtle electronic textures, and his signature multilayered,

Melisma

vocals. Whereas many artists will augment their lead vocal with subtle harmonies or light doubling, Arthur takes full advantage of the studio as well as his talent for colossal, three-part vocal arrangements that seem to fill the sonic spectrum with as much textural clout as the Prague Philharmonic Orchestra, which appears in three tracks on Shadows. The combination of Arthur’s vocal layering and the Orchestra’s pastoral arrangements provides a unique clash of pop vocals and cinematic soundscapes, demanding repeated listens. The

Philharmonic Orchestra creates the eerie atmosphere Arthur needs to emphasize his feelings of isolation and the physical and metaphysical gaps between people.

Midway through “Stumble and Pain”, easily the album’s most angsty track (and possibly its best), thunderous, dirty synthesizers and Peter Gabrielian vocal pyrotechnics give way to abrupt silence. Then, out of nowhere, a sea of strings comes creeping in, slowly seducing the other instruments back into the mix, and building to a masterful conclusion.

If the album is flawed in any way, it doesn’t have so much to do with the songwriting than the production aesthetic.

Since Shadows flirts so much with electronic textures (more so than on any other Arthur release to date) the production becomes too self-conscious and bloated at times. Between the constant array of synthetic textures and the expansive

Philharmonic Orchestra, little room is left for that organic folk mode, which comprises the true meat of each of these songs. While the production is, indeed, top-notch, it becomes a sort of instrument in of itself, to the point where replicating some of the songs live would be absolutely impossible.

To Arthur’s credit, this sonic grandiosity works aesthetically with his intended tone – a vastness of atmosphere pervades the album that lends a needed gravity to his lyrical content. The synthesized roars are sobering, while the orchestral swells threaten to veer off into oblivion, establishing a stark and urgent backdrop for Arthur’s theater of isolation.

It is a scientific phenomenon that when human bodies are incinerated in an atomic blast, their shadows are literally burned onto the backdrop of their surroundings.

While Arthur’s album title hints at a nuclear-terror-era rumination, his lyrics are never grand or pompous. Rather, he focuses on subtler, more situational themes, which evoke a broader message. Although the album focuses on these recurring themes of isolation, there is a quiet redemption just beneath the surface of all the sadness. The central piece on the album, optimistically titled “Even Tho,” features the apocalyptic refrain, “Gone, baby, even tho I’m here you know that I’m already gone.” The track features a delicate, pitter-pattering piano, a mid tempo, confident electronic beat, chugging indie-style guitars – all hovering around Arthur’s angelic falsetto melodies, which sound surprisingly almost frighteningly - like the man himself – Prince. Even though the song’s lyrics are foreboding and futile in nature, in the context of the poppy (bordering on R&B) melodies, the song takes on a prevailing sense of redemption and elation. Humans will live, love, and die – millions will be destroyed by clashes of ideology, and when we die, only our shadows will remain.

But what is truly haunting about this album, isn’t its evocation of futility or the transience of life – it the resignation to that futility which Arthur makes sound so very lovely.

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Reviews

The Decemberists

The Books

Picaresque (Kill Rock Stars)

Lost and Safe (Tomlab Records) The Books, a collaboration between guitarist Nick Zammuto, and Cellist Paul de Jong are a mystery to me. Their website offers barely any information on their origins, and even the almighty Allmusic.com lacks a biography for this dynamic duo. So when it comes down to actually reviewing and listening to The Books, one is left with only the music. Their first two albums Thought for Food (2002), and the Lemon of Pink (2003) were both critically acclaimed.

The band’s blend of folk and sampling created a unique sound that one could only describe as their own. Through intricate arrangements and the use of sampling of speeches The Books could be at times haunting, at times serene, and almost always beautiful.

Lost and Safe is a continuation of the sound that The Books have cultivated over the past 4 years. But this also may be their most accessible album yet, with Zammuto taking on more vocal duties the melodies are brought to the forefront. “A little longing goes a long way” immediately showcases this new direction with Zammuto’s whispery vocals standing bare layered only over a fluid Hammond organesque sounding synthesizer. The vocals are run through a reverb effect that helps accentuate Zammuto’s halfstuttering of the words.

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It is in this vein that the rest of the album follows, the songs are always fragile, but starkly so. And it is what makes the message that The Books send that much more powerful. Voice samples remind me of Fatboy Slim, and Moby, cheesy and overdramatic.

Somehow The Books have always been able to overcome this, and in fact

it is the voice samples that have the most dramatic effect throughout the album. As Zammuto sings over the samples in “Be good to them always”, the contrast between his voice and the samples makes the samples sound that much more human. “I simply don’t understand people,” Zammuto quips, as a young man repeats it as well.

In the past Books releases there were times when I felt as a listener that

Reviews

By Andrew Chira they had lost some of their direction, and were wandering a bit too much into certain ideas. Lost and Safe never does this, in fact they are more to the point and direct than ever. Each song has a sense of urgency that adds to the frailty, although it is peaceful and serene, there is a strong message behind each and every song. “An animated description of Mr. Maps” showcases this, using a mix of bells, and just general noise to create a driving drum beat as Zammuto sings, “He felt lost!”

The Books’ albums beg to be listened to and obsessed over with headphones time and time again. Lost and Safe is no different, if anything it is their best work to date. It is definitely their most energetic and accessible album of the three. Zammuto choosing to use traditional vocals more has facilitated a move towards a more traditional sound, but this never inhibits the band’s ability to still be innovative. If anything Zammuto and Jong perhaps they used sampling too much in their previous releases that it overshadowed their most powerful tool: their own voice.

A n d r e w C h i r a i s n o t a s c o o l as h e t h i n k s h e r e a l l y i s , a n d i n fact h i s o p i n i o n s o n m u s i c a r e o ften f a l s e a n d m i s i n f o r m e d , h e j ust l o v e s t h e a t t e n t i o n a n d t h e hot babes that music journalism b r i n g . U n f o r t u n a t e l y n o t e veryo n e g e t s t o e n j o y t h e s p o i l s of t h i s e n t e r p r i s e . . . n o t e v e n t he “arts” editors of the Primary Source.

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I wouldn’t think that the Decemberists were special in other scenarios. If I had access to say, a galleon, an instrument wielding crew, a fair maiden or two, a few post high school English courses, and a time machine, I’m pretty sure I could’ve written most of the songs on Picaresque by now. But really, I’d still be missing Colin Meloy’s unmistakable charm, wit, and massive kahones. There are also pragmatic complications, such as the decision to travel the seas with an upright bass.

Erm…anchors aweigh.

For those of you who don’t know, the Decemberists are a roving band of pirates that play accordions and Theremins almost as much as acoustic guitars. They have pillaged at least twelve cities and claim to be from Montana. They play a style of baroque chamber pop that Jeff Magnum would have played if he was lost at sea and lost his love for fuzz and semen stained mountaintops. Nah, keep the mountaintops.

It isn’t that all the songs on Picaresque are sea shanties (even though the opener, “the Infanta,” definitely is), but none of them sound like they were written in America after the year 2000. Meloy basically eschews pop culture, politics, and the planet earth at large simply because he has better tales to tell. The closest he comes on Picaresque is in the song “Sixteen Military Wives,” which includes a direct quote from “An anchorperson on TV: ‘la dee da dee da,

Melisma

By Nate Haduch de de dee de dee da.’ “ Social critiques are kept to a minimum in favor of more romantic, fantastic things, which is very characteristic of the Decemberists.

Picaresque is very much a similar record to their previous two full lengths. Stylistically and lyrically, it doesn’t surprise, but it does deliver. A few songs do have their little surprises, too, such as using the

percussive guitar line from Jet’s “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” as the drum line for “The Sporting Life.” It will leave you scratching your head, quite honestly, but wanting to listen no less. The aforementioned “Sixteen Military Wives” would be the other pop standout/surprise, formed around a bouncy keyboard line, triumphant horns, and playful lyrics. The quieter moments are as consistently beautiful as they have been in the past, especially

on the somewhat subtle “Of Angels and Angles” that closes the album.

Indeed, Picaresque sticks to the same basic format of Castaways and Cutouts and Her Majesty. All three open with a sprawling, engaging narrative, have strong pop moments with very few weak spots, and close with an epic tale that pulls it all together. Meloy and crew have never sounded like a stronger unit, and as always it is nearly impossible to pick standout tracks. “The Mariner’s Revenge Song,” which is the equivalent of Castaways’ “California” or Her Majesty’s “I Was Meant for the Stage,” is perhaps Meloy’s best story, complete with prologue, character development, epilogue, and Colin Meloy’s mom. Insert maternal joke. It’s not his real mom.

The Decemberists have their own distinct sound in the lesser known pop scene of today’s world. This, their third album, is on par with their previous works, and though their particular style may not be universally accepted anytime soon, it will go down as another great album in their unique discography. In conclusion, while your illiterate friends might not like the Decemberists, your highly literate mom will. And that’s the highest compliment I can give to an artist.

Nate loves Pavement and exercise, I saw him running around Gan tcher with a Pavement shirt on... that’s it.

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Reviews

Bright Eyes

Digital Ash in a Digital Urn (Saddle Creek)

Bright Eyes

I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning (Saddle Creek)

By Colin Green

THE FUTURE. Forget retro, man, make way for THE FUTURE. For serious, in THE FUTURE, we will be able to cook all of our meals to perfection in microwaves, and every postmodern city block will look like Kendall Sq. More importantly, in THE FUTURE, A Ghost will be Born. We shall name it Kid A, and send it to day care with other Desperate Youths and Bloodthirsty Babes. There it will learn to Give Up…Vespertine. Moral of the story, the time has come to Push Things Forward.

It is this very attitude that could make a digital-age dreamer express genuine interest in exactly 50% of the records released by Bright Eyes this year. Despite the fact that Conor Oberst is one sigh away from the cover of Newsweek, maybe you never really cared one way or another. The one or two times your girlfriend tried to get you into 2002’s Lifted or the Story Is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground, you were pretty unimpressed. Yet when one reads that Jimmy Tamborello of the Postal Service was involved in this latest effort, the heart gets all aflutter at the possibilities. After all, this was the same fellow who added a healthy dose of THE FUTURE to the principle songwriter from Death Cab for Cutie (an otherwise competent-

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enough group whose name is dropped often on a show I do not watch). The result of that concoction was none other than the most perfect record of the still-young 21st Century (2003’s Give Up). Even if you thought The Bends was totally overrated, perhaps the counterpart to I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning could provide a Bright Eyes release worth believing in.

Unfortunately, young Mr. Oberst’s approach on Digital Ash in a Digital Urn is best described as everything but the Digital Kitchen Sink.

Paradoxically, this entails a recurring reluctance to really stretch out, to go further. Instead of sending the eager listener back to THE FUTURE, Conor Oberst tools around with some ideas, plays with some synthesizers, gets impatient, only to release a fairly conventional record. Such a result is but one in a series of contradictions any critical listen to this record reveals.

For someone heralded as a champion of earnestness and what have you, moments in which Oberst “raise(s) his glass (filled perhaps with “Don DeLillo Whiskey”?) to symmetry” reek simply of precociousness. Perhaps it is this very proclivity that attracted fans in the first place. Maybe these same fans find appealing the dichotomy of a tortured Midwestern troubadour stringing together long lines of “poetry” over toy-pop beats that strive to be winsome.

His brooding eyes, shine out beneath hair tousled cute and playful, just so.

Who knows what makes these people tick; having listened to this record a few times, this reviewer still does not.

Opener “Time Code” could carry the alternate title “Nine Inch Nebraska.”

Other tracks, such as “Theme to Pinata,” in which roiling acoustic licks flutter in and out of sunny keyboards, sound just a bit too much like Mr. Oberst has picked up some work on the

side, scoring commercials for Orlando vacation packages.

The fundamental problem with this record remains the lackluster caliber of the actual music, a result of the songwriter’s complacency, an apparent lack of zeal. Bright Eyes’ frontman fancies himself a poet. Furthermore, he seems to be under the impression that if he can keep his listeners occupied with lyrical content, they will ignore the music beneath it, much as he seems to have in the creation of this record.

Such methods represent a considerable problem when one considers that nobody really listens to lyrics. They shouldn’t, at the very least, especially if it is only going to encourage those who waste time and energy crafting throwaway rhymes at the expense of a worthwhile listening experience.

Consider the case of one LCD Soundsystem: releasing one of the most ecstatic singles of 2004 is as easy as “Yeah/Yeah/Yeah/Yeahyeahyeahyeah…

Yeah.”

To Bright Eyes’s credit, many of the bridges on Digital Ash do carry a certain sonic allure, ironically (precisely, some might say) just as Oberst’s voice is noticeably absent.

Sure, on a number of key moments (a lovely plaintive intro on “Hit the Switch,” an orchestral coda in which “Symmetry” melts into a whirring, clicking, perfect segue into “Devil in the Details”…until, like a petulant child, Oberst’s voice re-enters the fray) the group demonstrates itself capable of hitting its stride. One wishes that this record could be more like its Final Coda, when the bouncy main riff of the tune finally drops out, and Oberst’s “there is nothing” is looped into the deconstructed fray. Ultimately, however, THE FUTURE is not for Bright Eyes to see.

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Conor Oberst has been writing and performing music since the age of 12. Now at 24, he has produced his greatest work to date. On January 25, he simultaneously released the folk oriented I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning and the electro-pop sister album, Digital Ash in a Digital Urn. The two albums are, perhaps, best viewed as a whole. Nevertheless, this review focuses on I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning.

With his very first words Oberst establishes himself the role of a storyteller, and, throughout the album, does not stray. The album opens with Oberst telling the story of a female traveler plummeting 30,000 feet to eminent death, or, as he describes it, her “birthday party”. He then breaks into an upbeat, countrytwang tune, rich with mandolin melodies and harmonies sung

by My Morning Jacket’s Jim James.

In the very next track, “We Are Nowhere and It’s Now”, Oberst lays back into a swung country waltz. While Jason Boesel (Rilo Kiley) keeps the feel loose and light, Oberst’s voice takes center stage. It’s the same broken voice heard on past Bright Eyes albums. However, Oberst has finally achieved the depth and richness that he foreshadowed on Lifted (2002), but didn’t quite refine until now. He lays back into the swing, taking mature musical liberties with time, articulation, and phrasing.

“Old Soul Song (For the New World Order)” features one of the biggest

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By David Kant arrangements of the album. It opens with beautiful harmonies between the pedal steel (played by producer and recording engineer, Mike Mogis) and trumpet (played by jazz musician, Nate Walcott). Mogis blends the two so well that pedal steel and trumpet sound strangely similar. The entire arrangement consists of two separate

but simultaneous drum tracks, organ, bass, layers of guitar, layers of voice, pedal steel, and trumpet. However, in contrast to past Bright Eyes albums, when complex arrangements at times seem contrived, this time, Oberst knew when to stop. He uses just enough instrumentation to add the extra depth and dynamics and colors to the sound, but stops short of overdoing it. These arrangements are rich and dynamic, yet concise and natural.

The very prolific Conor Oberst has finally learned the meaning of the

word, moderation. I’m Wide Awake is composed of just ten very concise songs, each with its own purpose and unique place in the whole album. From the swung waltz, “We Are Nowhere and It’s Now”, to the straight ahead country rock tune, “Another Travelin’ Song”, Oberst covers a spectrum of varying tempos, key signatures, meters, feels, and arranging styles.

However, he does so, all within the folk genre.

While I’m Wide Awake is a complete folk album, it is not,

by Bright Eyes standards, a complete work. Over the years, Bright Eyes fans have grown to love a certain Bright Eyes style that defies genre. For instance, it is difficult to accurately label the single, “Lover I don’t Have to Love”, from Oberst’s 2002 release, Lifted. While past Bright Eyes albums have been composed of songs of differing and original genres, it is evident that, when it came to I’m Wide Awake, Oberst sat down to write a folk album. Oberst, himself, even admitted so; he explained that I’m Wide Awake was to be a folk album to complement the more experimental electro pop album, Digital Ash. This will no doubt be a bit of a disappointment to Bright Eyes fanatics.

But even so, I’m Wide Awake, contains ten of Oberst’s best written songs yet.

David Kant l oves B ri gh t Ey es, he also love s c her ry popsicles, and hi s n ig ht l ig ht .

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Reviews

Edan

The Blood Brothers Live in Los Angeles Tight Clothes, Tighter Band

Beauty And The Beat (Lewis Records)

By Alexis Ong As yet, there haven’t been any rap reviews to my knowledge, so instead of reviewing the new High On Fire, I opted for shiny new Edan, one who ranks among only the finest rappers ever who deserve to surpass a metal review. And the new Edan is simply TITS. There, I said it. And don’t give me any stubborn femileftist protest, because as a girl, I shall point out that ‘tits’ is, indeed, a superior compliment.

What wasn’t tits, however, was the fact that I had a promo-only copy of Beauty and the Beat, which wasn’t as cool to listen to. After thirty-four minutes of obscure sampling, surprise breaks, buttersmooth flow and a well-stocked kitchen full of references to his hip hop predecessors, I was pleasantly surprised. Not as chuffed as I was when I heard 2002’s Primitive Plus, but chuffed nevertheless.

As someone of Asian descent, my only real representative in rap is Jin, and I can’t even get into that right now. But on learning of a decent rapper from Boston, it would be an understatement to say there was a little disbelief. I didn’t even think of Mr. Lif, who definitely F’d all disbelievers in the proverbial A, especially after releasing the stellar live recording of his show at the Middle East. Mr. Lif, who, coincidentally, makes a little appearance on ‘Making Planets’.

All I could reasonably imagine were terrifying lyrics about baseball riots and a painfully stilted delivery in a Bostonian accent.

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Nonetheless, in the true spirit of the Beastie Boys, who I still regard as the ultimate unbeatable superheroes of white b-boyism, Edan has passed with flying colors. Beauty and the Beat is a skillfully produced pastiche of sound that showcases Edan’s bright talent as both DJ and emcee, coupled with the efforts of his partner-in-crime, Insight.

Really, it sounds as if he pilfered a stash full of records from a burnt-out

Doors fan and tweaked them into magical loops that revolve around your head. In retrospect the album runs like an errant homage to 60’s rock, and though the skits can be a bit tedious at times, the songs themselves are gold.

‘Time Outt’ is essentially a skit, but avoids making the Madvillain mistake of sinking as a mere filler by invoking the unholy psychedelica of classic rock.

Not only did Edan produce every track himself, but has somehow avoided degenerating as a lyricist, staying true to the tenacious grit and

originality heard in Primitive Plus.

Only the utmost respect can be given to the man whose lyrics include the line “I jerk off in my cereal”. ‘I See Colors’ and ‘Torture Chamber’, featuring the one and only Percee P. are songs you inevitably end up listening to a thousand times over in a futile attempt to dissect his impenetrable lyrical layers – “Buttersoft brothers talk tough on wax but ain’t sell shit/My mental fabric’s too thick for Lenny Kravitz/ Who imitates Jimi Hendrix in every facet”. Lenny: Snap.

Nonetheless the real star of the show is ‘Fumbling Over Words That Rhyme’, undoubtedly the best and worthiest attempt I’ve ever heard to compile the entire history of hip hop in a single song – everyone who ever mattered, from early LL Cool J to Run DMC to Coke La Roc – laid over a criminally infectious vocal hook and a sick beat that will make this song the topic of heated debate for years to come.

Edan’s ongoing love affair with oldschool rhymes has made him, as such things often end up, one of the most capable emcees in the industry. Other emcees smoke crack, and Edan spits on smoking aluminum. Dude is even popular in Japan, and you know you’ve hit it big when you’ve conquered Japan.

Which brings me back to my original point. Edan. Tits.

Alexis loves tits... boobs, hoo-hahs, hooters, jugs, knockers, the twins... you get the picture.

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Reviews

By Gordon Cieplak

Blood Brothers... more like Blood Suckers

Tight shirts, tighter jeans, dyed black hair pulled over the eyes – ah yes, the signature outfit of the indie hipster crowd circa 2004. One always sees the type at the typical rock show, but outside the Roxy on Saturday night, there was a veritable army in uniform to see the Blood Brothers. Inside the venue was packed, sitting room and all. Before the anticipated act however, I had to endure two opening bands – the Mean Reds and the Chinese Stars – that both all but put me to sleep.

The Mean Reds came out dressed in nothing but denim overalls – I briefly thought they were a mean joke pulled on the audience, another band dressed in hillbilly drag as some sort of clever self-mockery. Alas, the only joke was the band itself, which played a sort of bland punk influenced hick rock.

After they left along came the Chinese Stars, who were equally mediocre, but far more tolerable. They are best described as a flamboyantly gay Death From Above 1979 – not necessarily a bad thing, but they lacked the necessary bitter energy to make the formula work. One kid shouted between songs

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“Play something on myspace!” Both of the bands lacked any energy in their performance and their interaction with the crowd, perhaps because they knew they couldn’t rival the main act, or perhaps because neither of them should have been playing any fucking music to begin with.

When the Blood Brothers came on stage and played the opening chords to one of the latest gore filled anthems, Peacock Skeleton With Crooked Feathers, the dynamic of the crowd changed completely. A mosh/dance/ spazz pit broke out in the center, sweaty hipsters gyrating to the throat shredding vocals of Jordan Bliley and Johnny Whitney.

When one first hears a Blood Brothers album, the first thought that comes to mind is “These sounds are not human. What type of studio exorcism occurred to create this vocal destruction” As it turns out, whatever demonic hipster spirits that Bliley and Whitney call upon for their vocal talents are available for their live shows. Not to mention the strength of the rhythm section – drum beats often

as chaotic and violent as the vocals were perfectly executed.

The Brothers de Sangre played material mostly from their latest album Crimes, which at first listen seems slightly slower and less intense than their acclaimed Burn Piano Island, Burn record. That’s only because your stereo wasn’t loud enough, you fuck.

Live, the Blood Brothers showed that their new material was anything but less intense. Songs like Trash Flavored Trash and Teen Heat had dozens of angry young hipsters screaming along with society skewering choruses: “Promageddon pit, a smash hit, your song is gold like the color of piss” “I’ve done my addition, I’ve done my division, Trash into trash equals trash flavored trash.”

The Brothers announced the end of their set and played their latest single (a bizarre thought) “Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck”, which featured a delightfully vocally wrecked Whitney chanting “Love love love, love love love.” The aforementioned angry young hipsters immediately began chanting for an encore after the song, demanding some of my favorite and missing songs, Ambulance vs.

Ambulance and USA Nails. The brothers came back shortly for a three song encore, ending with a surprising choice from Burn Piano Island Burn – "The Salesman", "Denver Max" – where Bliley and Whitney actually forgo screaming for singing (sometimes.) With more relaxed vocals, and intricate guitar picking this song proved to be an excellent closer, with everybody singing instead of screaming along.

Although they didn’t even play my favorite songs, and I had to endure two bands that nearly put me to sleep, the Blood Brothers played one of the most intense and enjoyable shows I have seen. Go break up with your girlfriend, skip the opening bands, and get with the Blood Brothers. Awesome.

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Reviews

Chemical Brothers

Spoon

Push the Button (Astralwerks Records)

Reviews

Gimme Fiction (Merge Records)

By Alexis Ong

I like to imagine Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons as the modern-day Ed Woods of electronic music. Angora sweater fetishes, maniacal smiles, offkilter artistic genius… the whole lot.

I take some pleasure in the fact that our two fine Mancunian heroes were fortunate enough to meet, get distracted by college, only to develop a healthy drug-fuelled musical camaraderie and eventually birth the embodiment of that zany redheaded art school cousin-thriceremoved that you always secretly wanted to take behind the barn. 2002’s Come With Us cemented itself as a favorite, fluctuating between all manner of breakbeats, meaty bass hooks, and the sweet Balearic itch that sets in about two minutes into ‘Hoops’.

Without being as explicit as certain political science professors, Come With Us is the kind of album I would like to have with me on a pleasurable trip.

Push the Button, however, veers off in a different direction.

Far from being a disappointment, it rekindled my old alcoholic zest and tolerance for social events where I might be forced into amiable human interaction. The Chemical Brothers are undoubtedly the grand dukes of the big-beat empire, betraying their closet passion for rock, hip-hop and other influences with their formidable list of collaborators – Tim Burgess of the Charlatans (making his second appearance on a Chemical Brothers

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album), the Magic Numbers, and Bloc Party’s Kele Okereke to name a few.

While reinforcing their musical supremacy with Push the Button, there are moments when their newest creation falls short. ‘Come Inside’, for example, reminds me suspiciously of ancient Chemical Brothers history, namely the long-forgotten ‘Leave Home’ from Exit Planet Dust. In this

particular genre there is little room to repeat oneself, even in the subtlest way, without getting labeled as old and tired. ‘The Big Jump’ didn’t quite prepare me for the teenage pimpular eruption of ‘Left Right’, featuring some spectacularly atrocious vocals from MC Anwar Superstar. As for beats, ‘Left Right’ leaves much to be desired.

Keeping with this decline, Rowlands and Simons have also moved away from their famous anthemic throb with the first single, ‘Galvanize’. And while

this may not be an entirely bad thing, despite Q-Tip’s excellent vocals, I was still a little dismayed at the lack of pulse.

The Chemical Brothers are wellknown for, if not defined by liberallywielded doses of bass, but this album seems to attempt to use other elements to compensate for this absence, like Okereke’s urgent moans which create the backbone for Believe.

If there was ever a song for determined scenester teens to provide the perfect complement for getting sloppy drunk, molesting bar stools and dancing like a retarded robot, this would be a fine contender. And you know, I could never mean that in a bad way.

However, the final track, ‘Surface to Air’, seriously takes the cake.

I’ve always been a sucker for their dreamy psychedelic explorations in the vein of ‘The Sunshine Underground’ and ‘The Test’. Ideally I would like to be awake at six every morning, oblivious to everything around me, ‘Surface to Air’ plying my headphones with whatever sort of insidious audio mescaline the Chemical Brothers have worked into their music.

It’s one of those truly delightful things that you can’t quite call a song; a problem compounded by reluctance to classify it as a specific type of music.

Overall, definitely a bolder step in an unknown direction, but somehow missing their trademark sound. Thus, I wait, rather impatiently, for their sixth album.

Melisma

By Rachel Olanoff

Talking about Spoon makes me feel like a giggly school girl and considering I am one that makes sense (although I’m pretty sure that guys feel this way as well). Many a strong man has admitted to having a man crush on Spoon’s frontman Britt Daniel.

One reviewer said "he is the pinup that should have been in your locker." However, Daniel’s gorgeousness aside, the music itself is what gives Spoon fans far and wide butterflies in their stomachs. Ever since Kill the Moonlight showcased Spoon’s potential for a much more varied sound beyond the raw energy of Series of Sneaks and the neatly crafted pop album of Girls Can Tell, fans have eagerly awaited their next release.

Indeed this album met many of my expectations for a new Spoon release, with material that seems to build on the sampling quality of Kill the Moonlight.

Masters in rock minimalism, Spoon begin Gimme Fiction with a home studio quality sound (since it was recorded in drummer Jim Eno’s house), layering luscious, darkly delicious piano chords over light guitar strummings before Eno’s solid beat kicks in. It is a cozy, homemade jam session that is elevated by its superior musicianship and craftsmanship. The rest of the album follows with Spoon’s usual assortment of fun collected sounds, thumping piano

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beats, delicately applied bass guitar, looped vocals, and guitar cacophonies. These effects individually may not be particularly remarkable but when combined to create a spiraling sense of excitement in a way that Spoon only can, create a truly fantastic rock album.

Gimme Fiction is difficult for me to describe because it is both consistent with and somewhat a typical of classic Spoon repertoire. Two songs that characterize this ‘new sound’ of Spoon for me, would be the programmatic groovings of "Was it You?" and "I Turn My Camera On." "I Turn My Camera On," while different from usual Spoon material, can easily be a sequel song to the quirky "Stay Don’t Go" on Kill the Moonlight, with Daniel further exploring his Michael Jackson/Prince crooning abilities. "Was it You," however, is just completely bizarre and eerie (even daring to bring out ‘The Cowbell’). Other songs on the album seem to blend Spoon’s sound with other equally innovative and somewhat similar artists. "The Infinite Pet," seems to conjure the dark soulfulness of Beck through Daniel (the musical answer to Conan O’Brien’s "What if They Mated?" segment).

If I had to pick songs that I felt were weak in comparison the rest of the album, I would say that the closing song, "Merchants of Soul," falls flat (particularly as an album finisher); the melody is a bit repetitive and boring similar to the shortcomings of "10 am" from Girls Can Tell, probably the only other Spoon song I don’t like.

Additionally, "Sister Jack," while catchy is not as intricate or complex as other songs on Gimme Fiction (although, in comparison to the demo version release earlier this year on their website, this song has improved a great deal with the layering of other guitar parts).

While the rest of the album is relatively strong, the true ‘guiding light’ (surely as

sentimental, but not pathetically so, as the show) of this album is "I Summon You." From the demo version alone, I knew that this song, if representative of the album as a whole, promised great things from Spoon.

Last summer, cruising around ‘burbs of Jersey’ (I know, quite the rugged wanderer), I kept this song on ‘repeat’ mode. However, on the album itself, this song acquires an otherworldly quality that mixes languid dog day nostalgia with spacey, distant, steel drum (or maybe xylophone) tones. This is the perfect song to listen to, basking in the amber tones of a summer sunset or lying on your back on freshly cut grass, gazing up at whatever you take to be constellations.

So despite the extended circuitous explanation that probably doesn’t convey exactly what this album sounds like (that is why, my friends, you will have to wait until May 10th, this is only a back cover summary), you are probably wondering what is my overall of the piece as a whole.

And to be honest, I’m not quite sure yet.

Like any album, it has its weak and strong points but I’m a bit unsure about what the uniting element is that ties this album together as a whole. It seems cohesive to me I just haven’t quite figured everything out yet. While I feel that it builds on everything they have done before, I don’t know if I’m prepared to say, for example, that Gimme Fiction is BETTER than Kill the Moonlight. Despite my fit of ecstasy over hearing fresh Spoon material for the first time, I also knew that grounding my excitement was the true depth of this album.

For me, listening to Spoon usually is not a question of whether the music is GOOD or NOT GOOD (almost all of it is ‘good’ in my book); rather Spoon is one of those rare bands that keeps challenging our perception of music, producing songs that encompass a broad range of sounds and dynamic but somehow remain quintessentially Spoon (and therefore always enjoyable).

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Melisma: Making music more fun than eating.