Tag: #television

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Surfacing for Air: Coal Miners, Cats, and Elephants

I’ve been off burrowing down rabbit holes the past month and change — diving into Pacific campaign documentaries and foreign resistance films during WWII, binging the between war exploits of the folks in Birmingham, and catching up on other compelling revisionist histories — but today felt like a good time to resurface for my primary obsession, serving the non-existent fanbase here to talk music. We’ll start with one that’s been sitting in my queue to talk about for months now, the Bozeman-based Richy Mitch and the Coal Miners. They’re another of the Spotify spillovers, discovered when one of my playlists ended and the algorithm helpfully suggested another artist/song to keep the thread going (fittingly, the playlist I was listening to at the time was the one for this page — Sunshine Radio, available at all times on the right-hand side of the page) and they immediately grabbed my ear.

Sounding a lot like early Local Natives (before that band devolved into the glossy synth pop terrain I loathe so much) these guys have a great sound and laid back vibe. The trio (originally from Colorado, having had an additional member or two prior to their current three-piece setup it seems) consists of singer/songwriter Mitch Cutts, guitarist Nic Haughn, and drummer Jakob Evans who have  known each other since high school. At that time their goal (according to their website) was to write and record an album before their senior year concluded, which became their self-recorded, self-titled debut, RMCM, released on their graduation day in May 2017.

It’s a fantastic little album, mostly consisting of Cutts at the piano and Haughn on acoustic guitar, giving it an extremely intimate feel — tracks like “Lucerne” and “Porcelain” are lovely little tunes, drawing you into their quiet cocoons with their beautiful melodies and harmonizations, while those like “Evergreen,” “Sweetwater,” and “Iodine” add in some Bon Iver-style flourishes to positive effect. (To say nothing of absolute kneebucklers like “Lake Missoula” and “St.Paul,” which are the best of a really good bunch.) Their second album Solstice came out the following year after the three had split up and gone off to college, recording the album “on breaks and weekends.” It shows no signs of that disjointedness, sonically sounding like a companion to their debut — the hushed introspection of the title track and “Florissant” could easily have originated there and they sit perfectly next to slightly more upbeat offerings like “ACT!” and “Silo.” (And all benefit from their proximity to songs like “Chakra in Basel,” this album’s absolute beauty.)

Their latest was 2019’s Subliming, which the band says took them “over two years of long distance to create and perfect.” It’s their briefest overall, clocking in just a bit beyond a half hour, but it’s another solid outing. I get glimpses of the Cure from the riff on “WET SOCKS” and a hint of Coldplay on “Somersault” to go along with their more traditional sound on songs like “backburner” and “Bins.” (Or this album’s slice of lush perfection, “BC, Victoria.”)

It’s been mostly quiet since then, with a handful of singles finally appearing this past year. Hopefully that’s a sign another album is on the way soon. In the meantime we’ve thankfully got these three to keep us company, which are a lovely triptych to immerse yourself in this weekend. Start at the beginning with my overall fave and its stunning “St.Paul.”

We’ll shift gears to close with a trio of readers, two remembrances of recent anniversaries and the other of a recent passing. We’ll start with the latter, a really nice writeup of Television frontman and transcendant guitarist Tom Verlaine who passed away at the end of January. The article does a good job of highlighting his importance (if for some reason you’ve never been convinced just by listening to the flawless majesty of the title track from their debut Marquee Moon.) I particularly loved the description here — “There was something nearly pitiless in the precision of his fingers… He seemingly trapped notes, agitating and destabilizing them before letting them go.”

It’s a wonderfully apt characterization from a man/band whose music is undeniably worth remembering. Check out another example of that prowess and another of my faves, the pristine shine of “Prove It” here:

Up next comes the recent 20 year anniversary of Cat Power’s You Are Free, an album I used to spend a lot of time with back in the day and still my favorite of hers overall. The article does a good job reminding us both about the uncertainty surrounding the album (it was her fifth of original material and her first in as many years, having contemplated quitting after the surge in popularity generated by 1998’s Moon Pix) and the ongoing struggle she faced during performances. (Like the author, I never saw her during one of the oft-reported meltdowns or back-to-the-audience affairs, but it was abundantly clear she was not one who thrived in the spotlight at the time — something she seems to have managed to surmount in recent years, thankfully.)

At the time I was more drawn to those haunting piano ballads, just Marshall pouring her heart out into the discomfort and darkness, but those songs had solid counterpoints this time with more muscular, slightly angrier tracks like “Free,” “Speak for Me,” and “He War.”  Those got her more radio play and made for a livelier show, but it was (and is) always those ballads that stopped you in your tracks. From the opening “I Don’t Blame You” to tracks like “Fool,” and “Babydoll,” Marshall regularly reminds us of this dynamic from the piece — “[she] digs deep into the depths of human desperation and depravity, but she always makes it sound so beautiful. Marshall’s voice — soft, honeyed, always somewhere flickering in the distance — still casts its spell even when she’s singing in an expensive studio.”

Nothing highlights that better than her flawless cover of Michael Hurley’s “Werewolf,” a track whose brilliance is directly disproportional to the smoldering sensuousness and ferocity she quietly conveys. She more than makes the song her own and it remains a highlight on a really good album. Give it a listen here:

Last of the readers is the writeup of the White Stripes’ masterful monolith, Elephant, which also turned 20 recently. This one represents the brash, unabashed half of our anniversaries, every bit as loud and punishing as Marshall’s was quiet and soothing, and man what an album it is. This was the Stripes’ massive, undeniable swing for the fences and geezus did they nail it. As the article reminds us, it STARTS with “Seven Nation Army” — as clear and unequivocal an opening statement as you’re likely to receive. There’s no slowly slipping into the album, letting the listener adjust to their surroundings before punching them in the face by the third or fourth song. No, this was a both barrels blast to the face from the outset, throwing the listener into a shark-infested wave pool with a suit full of chum. “If you can survive this, you can survive anything…” they seem to be saying, almost daring you to level up as much as they had.  And if you manage to meet them in the stratosphere, it’s a hell of a trip through the heavens.

Besides that monster of an earworm “Army” there are innumerable other headwreckers on display — there’s Jack’s blistering solo in the rollercoaster ride of “Black Math,” the facemelting gospel chorus at the end of “There’s No Home for you Here.” The sex god swagger of “Ball and Biscuit’s” seven minute duration balanced by the breathless, all out sprint of “Hypnotize’s” sub-two minute span. The deranged glee of “Girl, You Have no Faith in Medicine” with its unexpected delight at shouting “acetaminophen” at full volume. There’s nary a bad note to be found (although I, like the author, also tend to skip the closer, the power and perfection of the album having long since been cemented by then.)

The pair would never reach these heights again, leaning into the stranger aspects of their sound on 2005’s Get Behind me Satan before closing out strong on 2007’s Icky Thump, which recaptured some of this one’s thunder before they broke up, just in far smaller doses. (And Jack himself would repeatedly show the true value of Meg on his subsequent solo outings, working with potentially more technically skilled drummers, but never coming close to the primal bashing and emotion generated by his former partner.)

Thankfully we’ve still got things like this to go back to, aptly named monsters that allow us revel in past glories and joy no matter how many times we return to them. As the article notes, “An elephant is a noble beast with a long memory, and maybe that’s how the White Stripes saw themselves — history-minded congregants carrying the flame for dying traditions on a crass and heedless age. But an elephant is also a big motherfucker who will stomp you to death, and that’s what we hear on “Seven Nation Army.” (And the rest of the album, for that matter.)

Crank up that insane choir in the aforementioned “Home” and see if you survive:


We’ll close with one last item, a new song from another old fave, fittingly returning after a long spell in the dark. The band are the legendary Underworld, those UK electroheads who’ve been giving us amazing tunes for well over 30 years now. They’re back with new material, their first since 2019’s very cool Drift project, which found the duo releasing new songs/art/videos every week for the entire year. That was by and large another solid affair, but they’ve been quiet since then, only recently resurfacing for some live shows where they debuted some new tracks. One of those is this one, a front to back banger of old, which is hopefully a sign that more is coming from the pair soon. In the meantime, enjoy “and the colour red” here:


That’s all for now — until next time…
-BS

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Battle of the Bands: Indie, Hip Hop, and a Bunch of Punks

Having just completed a mini marathon of five headliners in six days this week (#41isthenew14), it only feels right to empty out the guest room of all the other finds that’ve been piling up lately.  First we’ll start with the latest in the 33 1/3 series I picked up, the mostly underwhelming, sometimes great series on classic albums that covers everything from Led Zeppelin IV and Exile on Main St. to OK Computer and In Utero — as well as this one, the classic debut of Television, Marquee Moon. Written by a mix of journalists and fans, the series too frequently offers semantic debates or sociological dissections of the artists and albums in lieu of what interests me most — examinations of the recording and impact of the actual music.  Tidbits from the studio, background on the band and how their experiences led to what usually is a beloved album, deconstructions of the songs and what they mean.  All too often those are ignored in the series and so for every four or five I read, one actually hits the mark.  Thankfully this is one of those.

Author Bryan Waterman does an excellent job describing Television’s place in the parade of New York’s underground, punk/new-wave legends, starting with the Velvet Underground in the late 60s, the New York Dolls in the early 70s, and then Television and the slew of giants that came out of CBGB in the decade’s remainder — the Ramones, Blondie, and Talking Heads all regularly played there and became enormous names well into the 80s.  Unfortunately, Television — the band that started everything — did not. (Waterman does a great job capturing descriptions of the venue so intricately tied to those bands’ rise, too — “CBGB is a toilet. An impossibly scuzzy club buried… in the sections of the Village the cab drivers don’t like to drive through.”)

That failure to launch is an appropriate follow on to the previous post on the beloved Replacements and a seamless inheritance of the previous bands’ legacies — headstrong and rebellious frontman and/or internal band frictions delay or outright impede greater success, relegating their bands to critical reverence and popular obscurity while their peers skyrocket and become household names.  And while Television frontman Tom Verlaine may not have been as self-destructive as Paul Westerberg later would be or as unflinchingly dickish as Lou Reed was beforehand, it’s telling that the band who walked up to CBGB owner Hilly Kristal in late ’73, fast talking their way into a prolonged residency that would make them cult favorites and launch the venue (and burgeoning punk scene) for the remainder of the decade were among the last to get a record deal (and the only of the aforementioned to not become household names).

It’s a fascinating tangle and Waterman does a great job unraveling it all — showing how the Dolls’ manager Malcolm McLaren took that group’s failure to break to the UK and subsequently launched the Sex Pistols (taking elements of both the Dolls and Television and immediately exploding). How original Television bassist Richard Hell left before the band’s debut to join former Dolls guitarist Johnny Thunders (who Paul Westerberg later wrote a cheeky ode to in “Johnny’s Gonna Die”) and formed the Heartbreakers before leaving to start the Voidoids (two more underground favorites). How Verlaine and company played non-stop for over two years (including numerous two a day, three night runs at CBGB) before finally getting signed and nearly three before dropping their classic debut.

All of which culminates in this amazing album. I remember first discovering it back in college when I would spend hours in my dorm room on Napster, pulling on various threads of bands I knew/loved (in lieu of attempting to seduce uninterested undergrads — you’re welcome). This being the era before streaming I would download anything I could find to widen the web of bands at my disposal, mining random live recordings and bootlegs for new things to listen to as I walked around to class.  As a big fan of the Velvets it was only a matter of time before I got to these guys — they are constantly described as the proteges/inheritors of that legacy, not only for the New York angle and their sound, but also for never having broken big.  (The ties are even tighter according to Waterman — frontman Lou Reed was a fixture at CBGB when Television was playing and actually got called out by Verlaine for bootlegging their shows one night).

I remember the title track being the first thing I heard, the epic 10-plus minute opus that was the cornerstone of the album and so emblematic of what made the band special.  As Waterman writes (albeit for a different song), “Like most Television songs this one starts with an extended introduction, a sense of anticipation, hesitation, building tension. Then, we’re off, though the stress falling on the first and third beats creates a slightly syncopated sense of lurching. The music is repetitive, churning, the sounds of machinery, the lead guitar rolling on the right side like a power saw cutting pavement…Then, an opening lyric, in Verlaine’s strained nasal harangue.” Those twinned guitars, that strangely commanding if effeminate voice, those disparate solos that would meander brilliantly before snapping back into place like a bolt of lightning — as Waterman quotes, they were “a force to be reckoned with,” purveyors of “loud intimacy,” and never moreso than on this amazing track/album.

The fact that the band was gone less than a year later, having released their follow-on (the often overlooked, but quite good Adventure) without reaping any larger following, drives home the cruel criminality that bands as good as this (and the Velvets and the Replacements and so many others) can still be so unknown.  After only two albums and four landmark years, these guys were gone — Verlaine released several solo albums in the intervening years, but the band that created this gem (and the scene that sparked so many other great bands) was essentially gone for good. (They recorded a one album reunion in 1992, but nothing more.) Thankfully we’ll always have this (and Adventure) to go back to — so dive in the same spot I did and splash around the blissful title track.

We’ll shift to more rapid fire mode now, just pulling stuff at random off the day bed to clear some space — first looks like we’ve got the latest single from Broken Bells, the hipster boner band of Shins frontman James Mercer and producer/musician/CMA Danger Mouse.  It’s the first song they’ve put out in a year (the underwhelming “Shelter“) and only the second since their last album (2014’s also underwhelming After the Disco). This one gets them back on a positive path.  There’s still no news about a forthcoming album, but in the interim we can enjoy this one off, the solid “Good Luck.”

Continuing in the vein of moonlighting frontmen and hipster arousal comes the news that National singer Matt Berninger will be releasing a solo album soon (Serpentine Prison, release date TBD) and he also recently teamed with Phoebe Bridgers (who has herself been playing in two separate indie porn posses before this one — with Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst in Better Oblivion Community and with Julien Baker and Lucy Dacus in Boygenius). That the Berninger/Bridgers pairing was for the Between Two Ferns movie means you can almost hear the seams on the hipsters’ corduroys screaming from all the tumescence.  You can also hear a pretty good song, too — check out “Walking on a String” here:

We’ll stay moonlighting one moment more with a track from Hold Steady frontman Craig Finn, who despite releasing both a solo album (I Need a New War) and a band one (Thrashing Thru the Passion) this year, still has more new music for us.  This time it’s in the form of the horn-laden look back at punk days gone by, “It’s Never Been a Fair Fight.”  It’s a solid song, between the horns’ warmth and Finn’s longing lyrics.  Give it a listen here:

Speaking of punk days gone by, there was the surprise release this week of a new song from LA legends X, their first new music since 1993’s Hey Zeus! (It’s also their first with the full original lineup since 1985’s Ain’t Love Grand!) Apparently after all the years on the road for their 30th reunion tour (I caught them a couple years ago myself) they finally decided to hop into the studio and record some new stuff this year.  This one’s a throwback to their heyday, both sonically and historically (apparently they recorded a demo of it for their debut, but never finished it until now).  It’s a vintage sub-two minute ripper, with John Doe and Exene furiously dueting while Billy Zoom and DJ Bonebrake charge along beside them. It sounds great — hopefully the rest of the songs do as well.  Check out “Delta 88 Nightmare” while we wait to see:

We’ll keep the surprise reunion vibe going, this time in the guise of rap royalty Gang Starr.  As I mentioned two posts ago, they recently dropped their first new music in sixteen years, which was a big enough treat.  Now comes the news that not only will there be more — this week they dropped another solid tune, “Bad Name” (check it out below) — but there will be a whole ALBUM full of new music!  With appearances from Q-Tip, Talib Kweli, and more! And it’ll be here in two weeks! (One of the Best Yet is due out 1 November) That is great news, so we’ll see what other treats Guru (RIP) and Premier have in store for us then — in the meantime, get ready with this one:

We’ll shift genres to the formerly hot (and yet still almost unavoidable) electro scene with the latest from French DJ/producer Gesaffelstein, who dropped the six song EP Novo Sonic System last week.  Thankfully it’s a return to the sounds of his debut Aleph, which as I wrote about on the old site melds equal parts 80s video game bleeps and thudding beats, as if your Nintendo commandeered the DJ booth.  This stuff (and not the flabby cheese of his sophomore album Hyperion) is the perfect soundtrack to high speed car rides after dark, whether being chased by the law or just speeding down the highway pretending.  “Dance X” is one of the best — when the beat snaps in just try not to floor it in response…

Having satiated our need for speed (and electro), we’ll mosey back to the indie world again to close things out with three more songs from that realm. (#symmetry) First up comes the latest from Canadians Wolf Parade, their first new music since 2017’s Cry Cry Cry.  It keeps the 80s vibe of the previous entry going (quite literally with the Nintendo-style introduction) and sports some synths alongside frontman Spencer Krug’s vocals.  It’s unclear if it portends a full album forthcoming soon, but let’s hope one arrives without too much delay.  Check out “Against the Day” here:

Next comes a track from a Scottish band I recently discovered (unsurprisingly at the show of another Scottish band I love, that of the Jetpacks), Catholic Action.  It’s off their 2017 debut, In Memory Of, which is a pretty flawless batch of songs (along with a handful of equally solid B-sides off their singles). They’ve got a new album coming out soon, which hopefully will continue the quality from their previous outings — check out “New Year” from the debut to see where the bar is.

Last up comes an entry from the fan mail (both fan, and mail, singular), an occurrence so rare pogs were cool the last time it happened, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t highlight it now.  Thankfully it (unlike pogs) is a good one, coming courtesy of Dead Sara, a three piece from LA.  It’s off their debut album (2012’s eponymous outing), which writ large is a hit or miss affair, but this one’s a certified ripper.  Frontwoman Emily Armstrong’s voice is an unstoppable wail as the riff of guitarist Siouxsie Medley blazes around it — it’s an absolute bomb.  Crank it up and roll:

We’ll close with three readers, first from Esquire, which recently ranked every U2 album released to date. I don’t entirely agree with their ordering (seriously, Rattle and Hum is the second worst thing they’ve ever released?  Have you been listening the past ten years?!?), but they get most of the top entries right in my opinion.  See what you think and let me know. Next comes a solid article by Stereogum on NIN’s double disc gem The Fragile turning 20.  I wasn’t tracking that most people didn’t like the album — I’ve thought it was pretty incredible from the outset (“Somewhat Damaged,” “We’re In This Together,” “Even Deeper…?” and that’s just a few from the first side!) — but glad to hear others are finally catching up.  Lastly Stereogum did an exhaustive retrospective on Bob Seger and why he matters. As someone who grew up hearing his huge hits on the radio (and TV eventually) it was interesting to realize the ubiquity those brought came after nearly 20 years of failing to break through and almost giving up several times.  It’s an interesting history and his early garage tracks are pretty solid — give em a listen and revel in that singular voice in some unfamiliar surroundings. (Though nothing will ever top the drums at the beginning of “Ramblin Gamblin Man,” a guaranteed rump shaker…)

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