Tag: #frightenedrabbit

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All the Debris — Songs of Owls and Rabbits

Had a strange moment of connection this past weekend.  In the days running up to it I’d been intermittently listening to old Frightened Rabbit records (it had been a couple cold, rainy days, which is perfect Rabbit weather) and been thinking “you know, I should do one of the old “One You Should Know” posts about these guys — they’re underappreciated favorites,” but it wasn’t until Sunday that anything abnormal occurred.

I woke up that morning with one of their songs in my head — again, nothing odd here (the line from “Poke” was rolling around — “it’s got lots to do with magnets and the pull of the moon”) — but over the course of the day I kept thinking about the band.  Old shows I’d been to, the odd pride I felt when they played the big room on the tour for their last album, having spent years enjoying them in the smaller, more intimate venues. Mostly it was a sense of melancholy, though, and thoughts about what could have been.

Those feelings on their own aren’t exceptionally odd, often coming part and parcel whenever a song or album of theirs comes on shuffle.  The number of times they popped up over the course of the day was what was odd. It wasn’t until late Sunday night that I decided to do a search and that’s when I realized it was the unfortunate anniversary of lead singer Scott Hutchison’s death.  Which I know makes no logical sense — I (sadly) never met the man, nor anyone else in the band, so there’s no rational reason I would think about him on that day. (Unless it’s a Scottish thing and we’re all subconsciously connected by our Viking heritage, which might actually be true as evidenced by my obsession with that place when I was living overseas, going there repeatedly — the only place I did that — only to later find out that’s where my family was from…)

Except in some small, perfect way maybe it does make sense.  Hutchison often sang about the inexplicable aspects of love and life — the inability to explain one’s feelings for another or to walk away from them, to change one’s behavior and break certain cycles, to stop believing in something and accept defeat. This indefatigable romanticism and resilience (and the at times breathtakingly honest way he spoke of them) were hallmarks of his lyrics, so maybe it isn’t so strange. Maybe it makes total sense for a stranger halfway around the world to think about and lament the passing of another on that exact, unfortunate anniversary. That this hasn’t happened for anyone I’ve actually known and lost might be irrelevant.  Maybe it’s as simple and undeniable as he said — it’s got lots to do with magnets and the pull of the moon.

That unseen reality could help explain the passionate esteem so many fans (and artists) hold for this band.  To know about them almost guarantees a reverence that borders on religious. Folks tend to not just like this band — they LOVE them, and do so in a fervent, unrestrained way that Hutchison might sing about in one of his songs.  It’s the reckless, visceral feeling of your first love or of finding some sunken treasure and wanting to share the splendor with everyone around you. It doesn’t happen often and isn’t felt lightly, but it’s infectious.

It’s what made going to see the band live this incredible, cathartic experience. One minute you’re singing full-throatedly about anxiety or loss, the next about optimism and joy or laughing at Hutchison’s jokes between songs. By the time they were done they’d filled the room with so many colors and emotions it was like having gone to therapy and a wedding while Jackson Pollack painted everyone souvenirs. You’d stagger out of the club warmer, lighter, and giddier than when you arrived, whether you’d been drinking or not.

In short, it was magical. That a tiny band from Scotland could affect you so strongly, so deeply, and so regularly didn’t make logical sense, but it didn’t have to — you felt it just the same.  A large part of that was due to Hutchison’s lyrics and the uncomfortable, scathing honesty within them. The vulnerability he showed drew you in immediately, either to sympathize or to relate.

I always think about where to tell people to start with a band, what song or album to listen to if they’re going to give them a try and see everything they have to offer. There’s a dozen different places you could start with these guys, but I think the trio in the middle of their beloved Midnight Organ Fight is the place to go.  They’re three of the band’s most revered songs and I think they chose to sequence them right in a row for a reason.

In those three songs you progress from resilient optimism to anguished desperation and withering bitterness (with some humor scattered in to alternately sharpen and blunt the blows). These are classic landmarks for anyone who’s had a relationship sour and fray, but also key facets of Hutchison’s personality (I suspect) and thus a perfect triptych for what the band represents. (Hard-headed optimism, intense emotion, and cutting humor and bitterness being key traits of another beloved Scotsman I know…)

In what’s become a posthumous anthem of Hutchison’s legacy, “Heads Roll Off” represents that resilience and the need to make something of our time here on earth. “While I’m alive, I’ll make tiny changes to earth,” he sings in a song dealing with mortality and religion. After his death his family turned these words into the mission statement for a foundation focused on mental health for young folks and people regularly post pictures of stickers with the phrase/Scott’s face on Instagram, doing their small part to beautify places around the world. It’s a lovely tribute for someone who struggled so openly and honestly with this issue — and yet still seemed so determined to get past it and move on.

“My Backwards Walk” moves to a failing (failed?) relationship and another of those scenarios where you can’t seem to make progress, no matter what you try. The lyrics are among my absolute favorites, both funny and devastating, as Hutchison tries to make sense of what’s happening and which way to go. Should I stay or should I go? Are we together or are we through? Do I still care or don’t I? The duality of the situation makes it immediately recognizable and also irresistible. “I’m working on erasing you, I just don’t have the proper tools.” “I’m working hard on walking out…my clothes won’t let me close the door.” By the time he gets to the climax at the end you feel like you’ve lived the anguish yourself and are just as unsure what to do about it as he is. (“You’re the sh#$ and I’m knee-deep in it.”) Is it catharsis or sarcasm? Hopeful or hostile?

The final wing is much more unambiguous — “Keep Yourself Warm” is brutal honesty about the emptiness of pointless, meaningless sex.  “You won’t find love in a, won’t find love in a hole — it takes more than fu#$ing someone to keep yourself warm.” What makes it so interesting is you can’t tell whether that hammer is meant for the singer himself, squarely smacking him in the face as he stares in the mirror, or the previous song’s love who’s now left him behind. It’s a powerful sentiment either way, sung with Hutchison’s signature cleverness and directness.

These three songs harness everything I love about this band and miss so dearly about its singer — the honesty, the humor, the humility and hope. They’re packed full of them, as well as really good harmonies and hooks courtesy of the rest of the band. They released five studio albums in their too-short career, along with a handful of solid EPs, all of which are worth listens. (Hutchison also had a good solo album under the moniker Owl John and a side project with his brother Grant (and a few lads from the Editors) as Mastersystem.)

They’re a really special band, one that forges a connection far stronger than simple explanation (or most other acts) and that’s likely why I found myself thinking about them so much last weekend, logical or not. I was thinking about two of my favorite shows — one under the shady canopy of trees back home at Lollapalooza, standing ten feet from the band with 100 other people, wondering if they felt as lucky as I did (and if the other people walking by knew what they were missing). The other turned out to be the last time I saw them, on the anniversary tour for the aforementioned Organ Fight. The room was maybe a little more crowded than at that first show ten years prior, jovially packed into my favorite club in town, with folks exuberantly singing along to each of the album’s tracks.

It was a wonderful night, one that made the news a few months later so jarring. Scott seemed so happy that night, cracking jokes throughout the set and bantering with the crowd like I’d seen so many times before. He seemed truly humbled by the reception to the album and the band over the years, thanking us multiple times over the course of the night. To know that he was still struggling with the feelings that ultimately took him away is really sad and hard to reconcile with the person we saw onstage. I suppose that’s the cruel reality for folks grappling with suicide, though — you can feel fine one minute and awful the next, unable to tame the dark thoughts and urges no matter what you do.

That feeling of hopelessness was the last thing I was thinking of last week — how scary and sad and overwhelming it must have been to feel like leaving was the only option. The only way to get the peace that might’ve proven so elusive or to quiet the doubts and fears that might’ve plagued him. It’s such an unfortunate loss, one that leaves you with a number of unfulfilled wishes.  I wish his family and the rooms full of adoring fans around the world could have helped him conquer those feelings and kept him around. That those who might be feeling similar things are able to get the help they need before it’s too late. And that the guy seemingly moved by magnets halfway across the world could have thanked him for what he meant to him before he left.

That’s it for now — until next time, amici…
–BS

One You Should Know — Frightened Rabbit

(Since for some reason this one isn’t on the Spots — a back-breaking listen…)

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Let Your Feet Stomp: The Wu, In Two (Documentaries)

Had a chance to watch a couple documentaries lately while baseball was on its all-star break, both chronicling the golden era of hip hop (note to millenials — we are currently NOT in it, despite your breathless claims for folks like Migos, Future, the A$APs, etc) — one focused on a single entity from that time, the legendary Wu-tang Clan, the other on an overlooked (at least for those of us not living in/around New York) playhouse for some of that scene’s biggest names, the Stretch and Bobbito show.  To paraphrase the departed Dirt Dog, though, first things first we shall fuck with the worst and talk through Showtime’s documentary on the Wu.

Cleverly named Of Mics and Men, it’s a four hour look at the gang of New Yorkers and the music they’ve made over the years, from their legendary debut to more recent offerings like the single copy disc sold for oodles of cash to pharma-felon Martin Shkreli.  Despite getting a lot of insight into each of the members and their personal lives (family makeups, early experiences in NY projects in the 80s, etc) and the dynamics of the group (who seems to get along, who butts heads (or butts in), etc), what’s notably (and inexcusably, in my opinion) absent from this series is the one thing that makes knowing those things matter — THE MUSIC.  If the basic test all music docs face is whether it will make an uninitiated viewer want to listen to that band’s/person’s music by the end, this one fails miserably. (Assessment tested/confirmed with wifey, who while aware of the Wu is not a fan and said she did not become one by the end of this “boring” endeavor.)

So instead of getting a ton of reflection on (or insight into) the group’s classic debut, for example — how the songs came together, how the recording went, etc — or how that quickly spawned the first batch of equally lethal solo albums, we get a ton of background on RZA’s philosophical perspectives, how they tried to market the group/albums, what contracts the guys signed (and when), how the logo was designed, etc etc etc. We got nearly 45 minutes on the aforementioned Shkreli scandal — tabloid frothing over an album that virtually nobody has heard and appears to not actually be an official Wu-tang album after all the fuss — while only briefly touching on the debut or their double album return (we get a little discussion of “Protect Ya Neck,” “C.R.E.A.M.,” and “Reunited,” but not much else), while completely ignoring the classic run of solo albums (outside of spending two minutes on the cover art for ODB’s, that is) that millions of people love.  It’s a shame, because those albums form a big piece of that golden age catalog (and STILL are great, as you can see for yourself shortly).

Contrast that four hour slog with the hour and forty minute party that is Stretch and Bobbito: Radio that Changed Lives (available on Netflix) — it passes that aforementioned music doc test with flying colors.  Not only do I think it would make the uninitiated viewer want to listen to hip hop (wifey was sequestered in another town eating single breakfast tacos and online shopping for clothes and body clamps, so couldn’t confirm), it makes the existing fan rediscover why they loved that band/person/style so much in the first place.  It tells the tale of the titular lads — two DJs who had the graveyard shift on a small college radio station in New York and somehow turned it into THE launchpad for some of the era’s biggest names — Biggie, Nas, Jay-Z, Busta, the Wu, etc. The pair would not only play songs that hadn’t broken anywhere else yet, they would host freestyle sessions that apparently became appointment listening for folks at the time.

The stories of people recording the shows on cassettes and passing/mailing them around were pretty great (note to millenials — cassettes were things old people used to use to record music off the radio so they could listen to it again (side note to millenials — the radio was a thing that people used to have in their house that was one of the only ways to listen to music when not in your car)), but the clips they show of the aforementioned individuals spitting verses off the tops of their head are what really makes this a fun watch. It really takes you back to that time, reminding you of just how much incredible music was being made and how much excitement there was about it, while also giving you additional appreciation for the craft (the skill and precision these guys show in their verses and albums come in stark relief to the disposable bullshit passed off as contemporary versions of that music today).  It’s a great watch — aside from the killer music, Stretch and Bobbito are pretty funny cats, too — so fire it up and pump up the volume.

And when you’re done, feel free to give this a listen, my antidote to the disappointment of the first offering — Sunshine’s curated playlist of Wu-tang songs.  I’ve done my best to pick the choicest selections from the numerous band albums and side projects — the only exceptions being the band’s debut and the first five solo albums (Meth’s Tical, Rae’s Cuban Linx, Ghost’s Ironman, Dirty’s Return to the 36 Chambers, and GZA’s Liquid Swords), which are included in their entirety as they are virtually flawless.  It amounts to around 15 hours’ worth of music, which should more than give you a sense of why this group has made so many fans over the years.  Yes, the quality suffered with each successive album — only GZA and Ghost fought off the trend and released second albums that were almost as good as the first (both of which are almost entirely included below) — but when you consider HOW good those debuts were, and add in a string of songs spread across five or six group albums (depending on how you count) and multiple solo albums from the ten members, you’re left with an impressive body of work.  I picked my favorites below, so give a listen and see what you think.  If you approve, just be sure to give a “SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUE!” so we can hear you.

We’ll close with a couple quickies — first the latest single from Bon Iver’s upcoming album, i,i, “Faith.” He continues his 50-50 trend so far as this marks the fourth release from the album, but only the second that I really enjoy (along with “Hey Ma,” which we previously posted) — maybe the others will make more sense in the context of the broader album.  In the meantime, enjoy the latest one here and see what you think:

Lastly comes an interview with Frightened Rabbit drummer Grant Hutchison from Stereogum on the eve of the band’s release of the Midnight Organ Fight cover album.  It’s a pretty rough read — the author clearly is a fan who acknowledges how hard it has been (and still is) to listen to the band’s music since frontman Scott’s suicide last year, a sentiment I share and have written about here — and Grant speaks to his own difficulties dealing with his brother’s death.  The positive news (other than his ability to start moving on, which I hope others in the band share) is that the band had recorded a bunch of songs before Scott passed, so we will likely have one more batch of his singular, heartfelt lyrics to enjoy.  Until then, enjoy this one — one of the many gems from that masterful Midnight:

Until next time… –BS

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Sad Hare Here: Mourning the Loss of Scott Hutchison

I’d planned to post this weekend about my recent trip to Atlanta for the newly discovered Shaky Knees Festival, but that got scuttled by the terrible news that Frightened Rabbit frontman Scott Hutchison had first gone missing several days ago and then was found dead yesterday, an apparent suicide. It’s stunning to an extent — like so many folks posting in the wake of the news, I’d seen him recently for the wonderful anniversary tour of Midnight Organ Fight and he was his warm, jokey self onstage — but for those who love the band, it also isn’t a total surprise. Hutchison had long battled a range of demons, whether depression and heartache or drugs and alcohol, laying his struggles bare in his confessional lyrics. It’s partly what made so many fall in love with the band — you easily identified with either those particular difficulties or the bravery and honesty it took for him to sing about them in public every night. And that’s what’s so saddening — that despite what seemed like a bedrock solid support network of his bandmates (which includes his brother Grant), fellow musicians (both in his native Glasgow and here in the States, all of whom are posting their regrets online), and the perpetual outpouring of love from fans night after night, it still wasn’t enough.

As someone who hasn’t had the sunniest backstory himself (despite my nickname and cheery demeanor), I understood Hutchison from the outset — a bearded Scotsman occasionally plagued by dark and stormy moods, but who refused to be defeated by them, taking the piss out of the situation (and himself) with a dry, at times devastating sense of humor. It was like finding you had a twin — albeit a funnier, nicer, and far more talented one. My discovery of him (and the band) came with that beloved second album, like so many other folks. It being ten years ago I no longer remember the specific song that blew open the hatches for me — “Keep Yourself Warm” or “Heads Roll Off” probably — but I clearly remember that mix of stark honesty, seething heartache, and blistering humor that filled both those songs and so many others on that album (“Poke,” “Backwards Walk,” “The Twist,” etc.) resonated like a cannon shot, being in the midst of a similarly imploding relationship at the time. It was a combination that would become the band’s hallmark and it was a connection that only deepened over the subsequent decade.

And that’s what’s been running through my mind the last 24 hours as I try to process the loss of this tremendous talent (and seemingly wonderful human) and the end of a much beloved band. It’s those moments we’ve shared over the years and seeing what this band means to me shared with (and by) so many others. It’s that first show ten years ago in the same dark, dingy room I saw them in two months ago, singing songs that made your heart soar (then and now). It’s that show back home in Chicago, outside in the park with 50 people at a festival singing their heads off after a heavy rain. It’s seeing the crowds grow from those humble beginnings to the giant masses seen at any number of shows since then, selling out far bigger venues in recent years. It’s seeing two of your best friends fall in love to (and with) this band in both their early years. It’s seeing your wife latch onto the band (something she rarely does outside Adele and Bieber), potentially identifying those similarly fetching (and vexing) traits in Hutchison that she had in the guy next to her. It’s seeing a room full of strangers come together in a moment of pure exhilaration, time and time again, clapping and shouting at the end of “The Loneliness and the Scream” like they just won the World Cup.

The constant for every one of those memories (and evenings) is their being filled with people singing along to these songs — loudly, joyfully, and without abandon. These songs of love, loss, hope — and what turns out to be just a little too much hurt, if only for the man that wrote them.

This is a really sad day and a really big loss — here’s to hoping he finally found the quiet that he needed, beyond the gaze of what bothered him here on the ground.

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Run Rabbit Run

It being St Patty’s Day weekend and all, I thought I’d channel the luck of the Irish (and UMBC, and Loyola Chicago, and Michigan… #marchmadness!) and a bit of my heritage to post about…a beloved Scottish band (cut me some slack, they’re close…) And like those two countries’ histories, which are so closely intertwined, the boys from Frightened Rabbit have been pairing up lately with some interesting artists on tracks that are worth a listen.

The most pronounced partnership appears to be their forthcoming one as Mastersystem, which has Rabbit frontman Scott Hutchison and his brother Grant (the band’s drummer) teaming up w/ Editors guitarist Justin Lockey and his brother James (from Minor Victories). The lead single “Notes on a Life Not Quite Lived” is a promising sign of what’s to come — a more revved up version of a Rabbit tune and a less electro/synthy version of the Editors’ recent work, which works rather nicely. Based on the Stereogum article that initially caught my eye, the four say this is a full-fledged venture and not a side project, so we’ll see how they juggle this with their regular bands. Hopefully they’ll make their way through town in the near future after the album drops in April.  In the meantime check out the single here:

Next is one of the tracks from the recent Recorded Songs EP that I missed when it came out in September, “How It Gets In.” It’s a lovely little pairing of Hutchison’s voice with that of Julien Baker, whose delicate delivery and lyrics of heartache work quite nicely with those Rabbit regulars, as evidenced on her recent debut. We’ll see if the two cross paths again in the future (perhaps on her sophomore outing?), but if not we’ll have this one to enjoy. Check it out here:

Lastly we’ll close with the pairing of Hutchison and Manchester Orchestra frontman Andy Hull from several years ago, “Architect,” which is just a great song showcasing a pitch perfect marriage of those two singular voices (just like the Irish and Scottish! #fullcircle). It’s a really pretty song, one that makes you wish the two would find something else to work on together soon. Five years is a long time to wait once you know something this good is possible. See for yourself while we hold out for more here:

And just because we can, we’ll close with a freebie, one of the many gems from their sophomore effort The Midnight Organ Fight, which I had the pleasure to see them perform live last month for the tenth anniversary of that classic. It was a pretty magic night — they’ve been touring to venues they played when that album first came out instead of the big rooms they now readily sell out, which meant they played at my beloved Black Cat here, so was pretty amazing to see a favorite play such a great album in such a small space. I could have picked pretty much anything from this one to show you why these guys are so good, but this one’s always been a favorite of mine — it showcases the unflinching honesty and emotion that Hutchison regularly shares with his smart, sharp lyrics, and has a lovely melody to boot. One of many faves (from this album and all their others) — give it a listen here:

Until next time, amici… -BS

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The Sound of the Wrecking Ball — Parades, Gazes, and a Pile as Big as Texas

Now that the last minute negotiations failed and the government is officially shut down, I know what you’re thinking — “If I can’t count on my elected officials to get things done, and civil employees aren’t allowed to come to my rescue now, surely I’m doomed.”  And while I see the merit in that logic, and how dark these times seem, I know your need to believe is strong and you haven’t quite given up.  So this civil servant isn’t going to let you down. I’m going to save you the only way I know how — by telling the three of you who read this thing about some great music.  And do so on my day off.  For free.  Because the country needs it. And I believe in you.  You’re welcome, America.

All kidding aside, one of my favorite things about this time of year — other than this town being largely vacated and the precious two to three weeks of peace that means at the office, on the commute, and just generally day to day as the majority of the sh#$birds are off contaminating other areas — is the abundance of similar year end lists to yours truly’s where kindred spirits offer their highlights and I get to discover bands or albums I might’ve missed during the year.  Despite my constant vigilance, there’s always a handful that slip through undetected, so part of the fun is discovering these treasures every year post holidays.  Really helps grind out the hardest part of winter, bringing a little warmth to the coldest days of the year.

This year’s been no different, as I’ve already stumbled on a couple new obsessions to share, so what better time than now when you’re in the midst of a crisis of faith and the temperature is hovering around Congressional approval rating levels or lower? So without further ado, here’s some of the happy discoveries I’ve made thus far!

First up is the latest release from the flock of Canadian geese flying south for the winter, the lads from Wolf Parade back with their fourth album (their first in over six years), Cry Cry Cry.  I’d never really listened to these guys, but this one kept showing up on several of the lists and I keyed in on the frantic, joyous tones used thanks to the band’s prolonged hiatus, so thought I’d give it a try.  The album grabs you from the outset with an ominous lower octaves piano run and a cryptic opening line that immediately seizes you attention — “Lazarus online, I received your message. You’re a fan of mine — your name’s Rebecca, and you’ve decided not to die.  Alright, let’s fight — let’s rage against the night.” It’s a great line, a rebellious sentiment suited for the times and one that swells as the song goes on.

The band calls to mind several touchstones that resonated as I worked through the album — frontman Spencer Krug’s voice reminds you of Beck at times (before he went pop and was still endearingly weird), the organs/pianos/keys hearken to quintessential Canadian bands like New Pornographers/Broken Social Scene/etc, and there’s an epic swell to the songs that is reminiscent of early Arcade Fire (a band they used to open for ten-odd years ago, coincidentally). It all works really nicely — aside from the aforementioned “Lazarus,” other highlights include Dan Boeckner’s guitars at the end of “Valley Boy,” the driving percussion and sentiment of “Incantation” (“remake my heart — let morning come!”), the jittery buildup of “Baby Blue” that erupts in blissful chaos at the finish, or the shapeshifting epic “Weaponized,” which should be a set closer for them for years. It’s a really solid album and delving into their earlier albums similarly rewards the ears (I’ve been spending a lot of time on the debut Apologies to the Queen) — check out a medley of their stuff here:

Next up is Male Gaze, the band from San Francisco that proves the Schoolhouse Rock rule that three is indeed a magic number.  The band itself is a three piece (frontman/guitarist Matt Jones, bassist Mark Kaiser, and drummer Adam Cimino), back with their third album (Miss Taken), and their sound is an interesting hybrid of three distinct styles — there’s a new wave vibe (think Joy Division with less gloom), fuzzed up garage rock (Black Angels kept coming to mind), and 60s style psychedelic (take your pick of British invaders).  Somehow they all flow together well and make for an enjoyable listen.

Tracks like “Keep Yr Kools,” “Pale Gaze,” and “If U Were My Girl” fall into the former category with Jones nailing both the delivery and lyrics of that era (“if you were my girl the future wouldn’t look quite so bleak, I might actually feel something — if you were my girl” on the latter track), “All Yours” and “African Ripoff” charge forth from the middle one like amped up mustangs, while “Didn’t,” “Tell Me How It Is,” and the title track brightly glide from the latter. It’s a really cool mix, balancing between funky, muscular riffs and jangly, chiming counterpoints as you move from song to song. The previous two albums tipped more towards the first two categories (which I truthfully prefer a bit more to this one, particularly the smoking debut Gale Maze), but the band’s growth in that span, releasing an album a year and adding the new elements here, is impressive.  Definitely one I’m going to be keeping an eye on moving forward — check out what they can do here (for some reason the new one is MIA online, so enjoy the stellar debut):

Last up is a magic band from Beantown that I’ve been obsessing over the most since finding them, Pile. Similar to the above bands who I’ve discovered several albums into their career (four and three, respectively), raising the slightly maddening question of “how the fu#$ did I miss these people?!” every time it happens, that point is driven home with a hammer fist with these guys as they’ve somehow eluded me for SIX albums, including this one (A Hairshirt of Purpose). And they’re really effing good.

They showed up just outside the top ten on The Onion’s top twenty of the year list (#11) and the writeup’s characterization — that the band “plays its songs…as if they were horror films…running right up to the edge of a cliff to dangle there precariously” — was what caught my eye.  And then I played the video embedded in the article, which belongs to the aptly named monster “Texas” and I was done. Sounding like the beloved hometown Jesus Lizard, the song is just over two and a half minutes of wild, noisy fury like that band at its thunderous best.  It’s the high point on the album, which is a more subdued affair than previous outings.

Here they opt for a more muted, atonal tone mostly — from the opening “Worms” to “No Bone,” “Milkshake,” and “Making Eyes,” or the frond end of songs like “Rope’s Length,” “Leaning on a Wheel,” and “Slippery,” the band opts to keep its knives sheathed more than normal.  (They brandish them rather wickedly at the end of those latter three, thankfully, violently thrashing to life like the person on the cover after his head slips below the surface of the tub.)  Outside of “Texas,” though (and comparable freight trains “Hissing for Peace,” “Hairshirt,” and “Fingers”) it’s a much more subdued affair, and if I’d only listened to this album I might’ve let these guys remain out in the cold.  Thankfully what I heard on that first track intrigued me enough to check out their earlier stuff, and that’s where I really fell in love.

On albums like Jerk Routine and Magic Isn’t Real (sorry, Stephven) the Lizard vibe comes through even stronger and the band flattens you with what it can do.  Frontman Rick Maguire has a wail that vacillates between a pair of Daves — the aforementioned’s David Yow and the Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl — on the rockers, while guitarist Matt Becker, bassist Matt Connery, and drummer Kris  Kuss (whose name appropriately calls to mind both ‘percussion’ and ‘concussion,’ the former causing the latter in his playing) bludgeon you in the process.  There’s nary a bad song to be found, and the spell continues on later albums Dripping and You’re Better Than This, which dole out even more punishment.  When the band does quiet down (as it does so frequently on Hairshirt, while much more sparingly on the others) you notice how much warmth Maguire’s voice has, drawing you in close before smashing both fists into the side of your head.  It’s a potent juxtaposition, and as the Onion writeup says, it’s “both lovely and ugly, even when — especially when — it doesn’t make a lick of sense.” For me the heavier earlier albums where this punishing whiplash is in such high supply are more irresistible, but I never would have discovered ’em without a little trip to “Texas” on Hairshirt.  See which version you prefer here:

We’ll close with some odds and sods from the last few weeks — first a video from fellow Scotsmen Frightened Rabbit that they dropped on Christmas Day.  It’s the single “No Real Life,” which was released to support Alzheimer’s research, and is a characteristically lovely tune from the lads.  They’re coming to town soon to play their classic The Midnight Organ Fight in its entirety for its ten year anniversary, so super excited to see that shortly.  In the interim, enjoy the new one here:

Next comes the latest single from the upcoming release for Portland’s Mimicking Birds, and similar to the first single “Sunlight Daze,” it’s a bit more amped up and electrified than their earlier, folksier work.  We’ll see how that works across the broader album once it comes out, but does well enough on its own so far.  Check it out here:

Lastly we’ll close with the latest single from the ever productive Will Toledo of Car Seat Headrest, whose upcoming album Twin Fantasy (a re-recording of a previous effort of the same name) drops next month (Feb 16). He, too, seems to have been bit by the 80s/synth bug, but it isn’t as jarring as some of the other bands fussed at on this site since his stuff already sounded a bit like the Cars at times.  This one’s a glammy, upbeat revisiting of “Nervous Young Inhumans” and hopefully the rest of the album sounds as good as this one the second time around.  Check it out here:


Until next time, amici… –BS

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