It is hot in Ohio.  93 yesterday.  Low 90s today.  Hot.  Too hot to write sentences even.  The "h" key on my keyboard just melted to my finger.  Hot.  What do you want in your earholes when it's hot?  Rock and roll, baby.  Straight ahead, kick you in the teeth, rock music.  No cellos.  No lyrics derived from a deep understanding of Wittgenstein.  No synthesizers.  Just guitars, sweaty dudes shouting choruses and hooks.  When the sun is beating down, it's too hot to move, you want three chords and a punch in the mouth.  You want The Sacred Broncos.  Dudes listened to a bunch of rock music.  Then they made some.  "Runnin' Shoes" is a pitcher of lemonade for these climatically challenging times.  Conveniently, The Sacred Broncos are bringing the noise to points east this summer.  They'll hit both of the principal Dick constituencies (July 19 in Brooklyn at Don Pedros, July 22 at Happy Dog in Cleveland).  More dates are available at their website.  (In related news, I'm psyched to make my first visit to Happy Dog, a recently opened hot dog joint/music venue.  Word on the street is that they have killer veggie wieners, so I'm way down.)  Grab a deck chair and hit play on The Sacred Broncos.

The Sacred Broncos – Runnin' Shoes

I had a re-mix riff all prepped for Independence Day, but I went into a food coma and missed the window.  The thrust was that America is founded on a re-mix, in that we took England, which was down-tempo chamber folk (monarchy!) and made it more awesome by turning it into high energy dance (democracy!).  Meh.  Lame.  This Teen Daze track, on the other hand, is sweet.

Local Natives – Wide Eyes (Teen Daze Remix)

Hello friends. We Dicks are back with another round of Dick Talk for you. This time, the album we are putting under the microscope (or would stethoscope make for a better metaphor?) is CocoRosie's latest, Grey Oceans. The new release, which dropped May 11th on Sub Pop, blows my mind, simply put. I can't keep up with the stylistic changes from track to track, yet I don't find myself put off by the diversity, either.

One could plausibly describe the album as Jad Fair meets Pink doing a record equally inspired by Sneaker Pimps and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Or Scott Joplin and The Dresden Dolls. Or Timothy Leary, Nina Simone, and Karl Blau. Or nothing at all. It is one of those records. Which makes it, in my hardly humble opinion, both immediately engaging and a total goddamn grower.

Now, I'll admit, I'm not an impartial listener. I have a vested interest in this being good, since I'm promoting their upcoming show at the Beachland in June. That probably totally explains my interest in getting the sound out to other's ears. However, I am 100% sincere when I tell you that my thoughts on the record are not colored by any bias. Besides, I don't make a penny on these promotional adventures, so it certainly isn't a profit interest kind of thing.

But I digress. Here are my thoughts on the record – I'm looking to you, Brian and Kevin, for your own.

There are points at which this album verges on electronica, which in traditionally disdain. At the worst of these parts, most notably deep into "Fairy Paradise," I might be tempted to give up on the album, if it wasn't for the fact that it came after nine mostly pretty brilliant songs and preceded the album closer, "Here I Come," which is just a delicious tea cake of a truth, with its pompy southern spiritual groove and lugubrious spoken word overdubs; this is the soundtrack to the performance art piece you want to take that chick who is way to cool for you to on a date. The poem that fills most of the track is pretty killer, too. Kevin – I think you'll dig the oratorical syncopation, especially on phrases like "A rape on the meadow/ a fornicating fellow" or "Up from below her/ skirt and sunlit blouses/ kangaroo mommy/ rapunzel and a tomboy" but definitely "A banquet/ a hollycaust/ a pussy wussy willow/ marshmallow, a mantra/ a temper tantric tantrum."

My two favorite songs on the album so far are the first single ("Lemonade") and the sophomore track ("Smokey Taboo"). The former is too wonderful – check out the video for the visual counter-punch and you'll most definitely agree, methinks. The latter, though, while perhaps not as perfect, has a lot to recommend it. It is on this one when my earlier Sneaker Pimps reference comes into play (though maybe that's even more true for the first song on the album, "Trinity's Crying"). There's this simple rhythm and a childlike scat-rap with a delay-fuzz on the vox that just works.  It ends with intensity and mournfulness, but is followed by "Hopscotch's" ditty-like one moment, percussive, wavy-gravy-esque the next interlude.

The dynamics in just these few mentioned tracks present multiple mind-fucks. That, of course, is a good thing.

With that, as I subject you two to something you may completely love or totally fucking hate (but likely nothing in between), I'll end with a nicely worded statement from a recent prefix review of this record: So love or hate CocoRosie, you've got to admit that they go for it.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Which brings us around to Cavalier Rose.  They share a title with my Cavs, but, more importantly, they have a muscularity that I'd like to see mirrored on the hardwood tonight.  Cavalier Rose aren't afraid to be assertive and bring it strong.  It sucks that they're from Brooklyn (understand this: If a certain free-agent-to-be signs with a team associated with certain Brookylnite rapper, there will be a serious t-shirt and cd bonfire in my driveway), but I'm willing to look past it.  If the Cleveland Cavaliers deliver some kind of performace like Cavalier Rose's "Atom Bomb," I'll be flipping over a police car tonight.

Cavalier Rose – Atom Bomb

We came up with a new idea for a week-by-week format that we'll all try to pitch in on, as we are able, and today we start the inaugural episode off. Knowing us Dicks, there's a 50% chance we'll forget about this within a week or two. However, there's also a 50% chance we'll be doing it well into the future.

In the hopes that the latter comes to be, here's what we have planned:

Each week, we'll decide on one album that will grace all of our playlists and then check in periodically to jot down our thoughts and dialogue with one another. Hopefully, some of you guys will join us in the conversation, too.

This first week we are starting with Dr. Dog's new record, Shame, Shame, which was released a few weeks back on Anti-. Since I'm the first one to blog about it, I get to set the pace. Sweet.

The record is the band's first album since leaving New Orleans-based label Park the Van (though for a minute, the label was operating in Philly, the band's hometown). I was bummed when I heard the band was leaving the label – it really is my favorite label in operation these days – and now that I've listened to the record, I'm extra bummed. It's missing the distinctive Park the Van sound you only notice in retrospect.

Instead, the fellas in Dr. Dog have traded in some of the DIYishness of their previous efforts for a super-glossy recording that just doesn't remind me of the band I've been digging these last few records.

There are still some golden nuggets, of course. "Shadow People" is certain to wind up on my Best of 2010 mix tape and "Station" reminds me of a Grateful Dead meets Willie Nelson jam that I'm sure the dude sitting next to me at the cafe as I type this would dig. (That's not a slam, mind you. He's a fine fellow, crazy friendly, and recently introduced me to the glory that are ginger snaps dipped in hot coffee. He's also opening his own head shop down the block in a few weeks, so if you are  in town and looking for a nice glass pipe from which to smoke your legal tobacco, give him a shout.)

Other tracks are promising – I'm thinking of songs like "Unbearable Why" and the Windmill-esque "Where'd All the Time Go" – but I'm having a hard time getting in to the deep cuts. Songs I'd usually blare – like the theatrical "Later" and the edgy "Jackie Wants A Black Eye" – just aren't doing it. So, fellow dicks, help a brother out. I'm looking to you guys to either point me to the genius on the record that I'm missing or join me in my sad ambivalence.

I don't want to be sad. I don't like being ambivalent. I love that feeling when you listen to a song one more time and finally get it. So, fellas, where is it?

Also, glad to be back. And it was lovely to see you on Record Store Day. Especially because Brian's little one made the trek out. Speaking of which, Brian – apologize to your wife for me for the repeated poop questions, please. I was really interested! Still, it was wrong and I'm sorry.

First up is a band(?) called Caretaker. From what I can surmise from the artist’s MySpace page, it appears to be the work of one man who goes by the name of Jason Kane. That is him over there to the left, the one who looks a little bit like Charles Manson (that’s a good thing, in case you were wondering). We actually received a couple tracks from Mr. Kane, but the one that I am featuring here is called “Peoples’ Say,” an eclectic, retro-sounding number with a little bit of edge to it. The vibe reminds me a bit of Richard Swift with a little more less weirdness. There’s quite a bit going on here for just one guy, though I’m not sure if there were any other musicians involved or how the track was produced. Big, orchestral percussion, some Santana-esque guitar strumming, a little bit of twang, a hint of what sounds like an organ, and a whole lot of AM Radio style mellow. Hopefully we will get word from the man himself for a bit more insight on the track, but all you really need to know is that it sounds great. Unfortunately the dude doesn’t have much info on his page and he has only three friends at the moment, so I can’t tell you where to purchase any of his music or where you may be able to catch him live. I suggest shooting him a message if you are interested and letting him know that you heard it here on Citizen Dick. And maybe throw a friend request his way while you’re at it.

Caretaker – Peoples’ Say

Next up is a track from an Argentinean artist by the name of Ezequiel Claverie, who records under the name Ezequiel Ezequiel. According to the message accompanying the submission, this track (and, I assume, the others on his current EP) was recorded in his home studio in London, where he now resides. The song below, called “Raise the Dead,” is a delicate and somewhat breathy tune sure to appeal to fans of Sam Beam, Bon Iver, and, if you have been following my previous recommendations, Barzin. The production quality is quite good for a home recording, and the arrangements and melodies show a lot of promise. Like our last artist, Ezequiel could use some more friends on MySpace, so be sure to hit him up there as well (he only has 30 friends at the moment). In addition to his presence on everyone’s favorite dying social media platform, Ezequiel Ezequiel also has his own website, so click the link and navigate on over. There isn’t a whole lot of info to be found, but if you are feeling this track you should definitely check it out because you can stream it there along with four others. And you can even download the entire EP for free, which is nice.

Ezequiel Ezequiel – Raise The Dead

The last submission of the day definitely skews a bit poppier than the first two, but it is Friday after all so we can all use something just a little more twee to brighten up our day. And know that when I say twee, I mean it in the nicest possible way. The band is called Early Ghost, and if the track that I have been listening to is any indication, their sound reminds me of a slightly more mature rendition of The Boy Least Likely To. The track that we received is called “Witch in the Cherry Tree” and as you may imagine from my description, it is not nearly as ominous as the title makes it sound. It is actually a beautiful pop gem that features (what sounds like) a toy piano and contains just enough sugary-sweetness to draw you in without pushing you away. Not to turn this whole day into a PSA for MySpace, but this is another artist in desperate need of friends, as they, like Caretaker, currently have only three of them. And yes, one of them is Tom. In fact, there aren’t even any photos on their page and Google wasn’t much help in that department either. As such, I took it into my own hands to accompany this post with the first result that came up in a Google image search for “Early Ghost.” Because, you know, we like visuals around here. What you see to the left is not in any way official or related to the band, as far as I know anyway, but it is a drawing titled “Early Ghost” from an artist named Hector G Romero. And it’s actually pretty cool. Personally, I think they should use this as the cover art for their next record and give me a shout out in the liner notes. I’ll check with Hector and the guys in the band and let you know how that turns out. For now, just enjoy the track and have a great weekend.

Early Ghost – Witch In The Cherry Tree

]]> http://citizendick.org/2010/01/22/tgif-hodge-podge-reader-submissions-edition/feed/ 0 http://citizendick.org/2010/01/21/daniel-johnston-is-and-always-was-album-review/ http://citizendick.org/2010/01/21/daniel-johnston-is-and-always-was-album-review/#comments Thu, 21 Jan 2010 05:48:13 +0000 justin http://citizendick.org/?p=7680

Here we are, less than a week from the first major slew of 2010 releases dropping, and I still have some unfinished 2009 business to attend to. There are a bunch of records released in the last quarter of last year that we didn’t get to, but for me, the most important one to weigh in on, regardless of the exceptional tardiness, is Daniel Johnston’s Is And Always Was.

Johnston’s seventh studio album, Is And Always Was, continues his recent streak of working with talented and unique producers to amplify the traditional singer-songwriter quirk and turn it into something new and unusual. Following previous partnerships with folks like Mark Linkous (Fear Yourself) and Brian Beattie (Rejected Unknown, Lost and Found), Johnston gave the production nod to Jason Falkner this go-round, a choice, having listened to this record countless times since its October release, that was as inspired as it was sound.

Falkner, who is known to enthusiasts from his work with artists like Air and Beck, does a great job of taking Johnston’s raw materials, namely his voice and his lyrics, and fusing them with rock arrangements that take the tracks to new levels. In so doing, he’s evolved Johnston’s traditional minimalistic, Beatles-esque sound into a fuller effort more akin to the post-Beatles work done by George Harrison and, especially, Paul McCartney in the 1970s. This new sound is as big and complex as anything Johnston’s done to date, save perhaps his short-lived garage experiment with some fellow Waller TX residents in Danny and the Nightmares.

Perhaps that’s why so much of the writing on the record seems like an effort on Johnston’s part to evoke “Daniel Johnston” the character rather than Daniel Dale Johnston the person. We don’t hear as many references to lost love and funeral homes on Is And Always Was, though the ones we do have – “Freedom” and “High Horse” – are pretty great. What we do hear, however, are a number of awkward references to Johnston’s mental illness (“Mind Movies”) and his previous releases (“Lost In My Infinite Memory”). It should be noted, though, that “I Had Lost My Mind” gets excused from this critique, despite the thematic similarities, since it is essentially an awesomely tricked-out reprise of a track from Johnston’s 1982 recording, Don’t Be Scared. It also has the whimsical and unforced self-deprecation of that era that seems to be missing from some of these heavy-handed songs.

This isn’t to slag on the man – he’s still my favorite songwriter and one of my most dearly beloved artists – but just to say that his writing on several songs seems unnecessarily referential to a particular popular portrayal of him as a person. The songs where Johnston’s not bogged down in perpetuating the myth, on the other hand, are some of the finest on the album (“Tears,” “Queenie the Dog,” “Is And Always Was,” and especially “Light of Day”).

These quibbles, however, will only resonate with longtime Johnston listeners, and even some of them won’t be bothered. Those new to Daniel Johnston or even heretofore unaware of his body of work are unlikely even to notice. Instead, most attention will be paid, and rightfully so, to the sonic compositions that Johnston and Falkner have created. Considered in that way, Is And Always Was is an incredibly successful effort, sprinkled with gems and smothered in charm.

The album begins almost deceptively, Johnston’s nervous warble and guitar only, but when the brief chorus (“And I love you so/And I can’t let go”) is repeated, it is accompanied by a spaced-out vibe that one hasn’t heard before on an original Johnston recording. Falkner’s involvement on the record – in addition to producing, Falkner also plays guitar, bass, and keys on numerous tracks – becomes more evident on the driving, dirty rock of “Fake Records of Rock n Roll – in Johnston’s own words, “a get-down boogie like never before” and Irish wake-style ditty in honor of a past pet on the hilarious and moving track “Queenie the Dog.” The absolute counter-point to Jason Lytle’s “Ghost of My Old Dog,” which is the musical equivalent of Old Yeller and, thus, impossible for me to listen to without choking up, “Queenie the Dog” is a song Phish could’ve written during the Junta sessions.. This song feels the way I earnestly hope to when my beloved beagle shuffles off this mortal coil, and finds Johnston at his most playful and light-hearted, singing strange lines about speaking dogs, werewolves, and howling at the sun with glee and love.

Throughout Is And Always Was, Johnston and Falkner change up the vibe. “High Horse” features delightful synth effects and a light echo, while “Without You” has a kitschy 80s contemporary sound that would be perfect as the theme song of a Night Court rom-com spin-off. The album’s title track, however, is a psychadelic swirl, vintage Daniel Johnston by way of Jefferson Airplane. The song focuses on self-loathing, religion, pop culture, and self-awareness, and the pairing of words with music brilliantly links the foreboding and fantastical dimensions with darker manifestations of romantic love. The preceding track, “Tears,” however, is an entirely different vehicle, all syncopation in the backseat with Johnston’s vocals and lyrics at the wheel on cruise control.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Along with “Tears,” the three stand-out tracks on this record include the reconditioned “I Had Lost My Mind,” which was used to great effect in this Austin-based musical about Johnston’s life and art, the album’s lead single “Freedom,” which was the stand-out song during Johnston’s performance in Ann Arbor last summer reviewed here, and, most definitely, the album’s terrifyingly genius closer, “Light of Day.” This 6 1/2 minute opus alone is worth the price of purchase for Is And Always Was. It is, in a word, WONDERFUL, the kind of song you just don’t want to end. While it does eventually end – everything does, eventually – the long stretch you get with it is a delectably slow jam, repetitive but hardly noticeably so, given the deep, deep groove Johnston gets to in the song. Longtime listeners who have not yet had the pleasure of hearing this song will probably be shocked to hear this, but there’s even a point in the track (at about 3:50) where you’ll find yourself fist-pumping. Part of that is because the song is just so damn good, but a lot of the credit in this track should go to session drummer Joey Waronker (REM, Beck, Smashing Pumpkins), who somehow resists what must have been biblical-scale urges to go with the thundersticks, and instead keeps things so laudably atmospheric your adrenalin will rise as high as its been since the last time you got mugged, but in a very good way.

In all, Is And Always Was amounts to incontrovertible evidence that Daniel Johnston the artist is still alive and kicking, but, at the same time, is at his best with the supportive guidance from a talented producer and musician like Jason Falkner (or Mark Linkous or Brian Beattie) and, maybe, a little encouragement to write songs about the now and even the future, rather than taking steps to keep in the spirit of the cariacature of his character that has developed since his post-The Devil and Daniel Johnston resurgence.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Daniel Johnston – Freedom

If there is a record I feel most sheepish about not covering on these pages in 2009, it is The Rural Alberta Advantage’s brilliantly pastoral Hometowns.  OK, I’ll throw Merriweather Post Pavilion on there, too, but I feel way worse about Hometowns because I liked it way more.

As good as it is, and it is so good the word should have two syllables, it is a difficult album to describe. You can say it sounds Canadian, which it does even if that isn’t a terribly profound or illuminating description. You can say it is about sense memory and place, both broadly construed and with respect to Alberta, the province from which the band gets not only its name but also its frontman, Nils Edenloff. But when you try to describe its sound, you eventually get bogged down between saying it is kinda dance-oriented, only it isn’t.

I brought this up to Edenloff in an interview I did with him last week (check it out if you like here), mentioning I could burn a few songs for a friend and have them swear The Rural Alberta Advantage was a dance-pop band, and then turn around and burn a few more for a different person and have them swear they were a straight-up rock band. From his response, it seems clear that this sonic diversity isn’t accidental and has a lot to do with the different musical interests and perspectives of the band’s three members.

In light of that, I decided to bring you the two tracks that would anchor those respective hypothetical burned CDs mentioned in the paragraph above. For those that like to dance, you’ll likely dig on “Don’t Haunt This Place,” arguably the band’s biggest hit since making their huge splash at SXSW last spring. The rest of you who are a little more like me will fall in love with “Frank, AB” – the second single from Hometowns. And, finally, those of you who listen to both tracks will quickly realize I’ve set up a bit of a false dichotomy. In reality, the band’s sound exists on a contiuum; these two tracks just reside at different ends. You can dance to “Frank, AB” and rock out to “Don’t Haunt This Place.”

In fact, those of you residing in Citizen Dick Country will be pleased to note that the band’s ongoing tour itinerary brings them through Cleveland this Sunday, January 17th, for a show at the incomparable Beachland Tavern with New York City’s The Octagon. See the John G designed gig poster below for more information.

The Rural Alberta Advantage – Don’t Haunt This Place

The Rural Alberta Advantage – Frank, AB

PJ Bond is the kind of guy who absolutely rules open mic sessions. The guy who could play for 6 hours without repeating a song, if only the owner let him. The kind of guy who plays 14 songs you’ve never heard before and all of which you love, but you don’t want to tell him you like it for fear of not recognizing something classic by someone important. The kind of guy who has developed such a studied appreciation of so many different artists and styles that even when the song is an original, it feels like it has a piece of something else in it, even if that piece is only barely and ephemerally discernible.

This quality is Jersey-based Bond’s greatest strength as a solo artist, and also perhaps his biggest challenge to surmount. I’ve spent many hours now listening to his recent album, You Didn’t Know I Was Alphabetical,  on repeat and in the background as I’ve worked on this project or that. A hook will strike my fancy and the volume will go up, the phone will ring and it goes back down until my dogs fall asleep and I realize how quiet it is without them scampering around behind me and the increase volume key gets tapped a few more times. Over and over this pattern and others like it have played out, with the occasional smile here or re-started track there. After who knows how many days of this, I have a track listing to my right with checkmarks and margin scribbles, and a notepad on my left where I’ve jotted down random thoughts about Bond’s work.

Looking over those thoughts, though, I realize just how often Bond reminds me of someone else. “No Theme Summer (Pastro, PA)” sounds like a latter-day Wilco upbeat giddy retro rocker – you’ll probably be able to imagine a Tweedy version without much effort – while “Fucking! Viv” somehow had me dialing a friend, who had, unfortunately, already gone to bed, to ask what that song was when we were in high school in the mid-90s where the alt-rock ballad was accompanied by a video about missing kids. Turns out it was “Runaway Train” by Soul Asylum, and my friend nonplussed and displeased. There’s even a song on the first half of the record (“Grow Your Smile Wide”) where I feel like I’m listening to a song that was born out of an Aerosmith fake book turned to Livin’ on the Edge.”

This isn’t to say that the music isn’t good. Even if the aforementioned examples aren’t likely to get many indie rock enthusiasts these days excited, the songs on this record are solid, digable, and frequently impressive.  For example, the album opener, “You Too,” takes me back to the last time I saw Paleface play a small bar and I love “You Know the Drill” even though it sounds like it might’ve originally been written by Billy Joel with an assist Randy Newman but for an acoustic singer-songwriter type. Moreover, the songs where the influential debts aren’t so obvious (i.e., “The Night of the 27th,” “Skin and Bones”) are among the best on the album.

Instead, I think the perceived lack of originality, even in the face of what I’d bet is tremendously original, is more due to the sonic limitations of the singer-songwriter approach. When a performer is effectively naked in front of the crowd, with only the mic stand to hide behind and his own guitar to keep rhthym, there are only so many different combinations of chord changes and song structures that can fit into that genre. And, well, singer-songwriters have been doing it for quite some time, and darn near everything to write has been written and every way to sing has been sung, so there’s just gotta be some carryover. What I’d love to see (or, rather, hear) is Bond to get a band, write music with a fuller and more diverse sound, and see what he can do wants he frees himself of the confines of his current genre. Until then, though, You Didn’t Know I Was Alphabetical remains a highly listenable album. Especially if, unlike me, you are young enough not to have memories of The Gin Blossoms.

You Didn’t Know I Was Alphabetical, PJ Bond’s first solo album to be released by a label, dropped November 10th via Black Numbers. You can purchase it here. Interested readers should also be sure to check out Bond’s blog, Year of A Thousand Roommates, which chronicles the songwriter’s experiment in functional homelessness as he travels the country playing music and crashing on a different couch every night. By my count, he’s been doing this mid-April, so he ought to be up to like 750 or so roommates so far. Check it out!

PJ Bond – Skin and Bones

PJ Bond – You, too

Danish art pop. A delightful band name that amounts to a pun about one of the most infamous women in rock history. Killer haircuts (well, at least the dude on the right). What more could you really ask for from an indie band these days?

How about a good song?

Well, Oh No Ono certainly has one of those in the form of “Helplessly Young,” the second single to be released from the band’s forthcoming full-length U.S. debut, Eggs. Unique instrumentation, inspired tempo changes, a carefree and almost childlike approach to the vocals, and an H1N1-level infectious set of hooks, “Helplessly Young” has me hoping that somebody somewhere forks out the dough to fly the dudes from Aalborg stateside in March for a much-deserved SXSW performance and, why not, a US tour to cement their status as the next art pop band to take this country by storm. Because, mark my words, that’s what they’ll be. Or, at least, ought to be.

In the meantime, since we can’t take a vote to pressure President Obama and Secretary of State Clinton to bring Oh No Ono over here on a well-financed cultural exchange visit, we can engage in a little participatory democracy concerning the band’s video for this track. Right now, there are three different video versions, and Aske, Malthe, Nis, and Nicolai are hosting a contest to determine which one will be the winner. Below is my favorite version, but you can check out the other two here. C’mon – do it! It’ll be good practice for the fall midterms.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Eggs, Oh No Ono’s debut full-length album (at least here in the US), comes out January 26th on Friendly Fire (except in every party of Europe not called Denmark, where it is being handled by The Leaf Label).

Oh No Ono – Helplessly Young

Here in Cleveland, the sometimes vaguely accurate weather gods we call meteorologists are calling for a foot or so of snow to dump on us over the next day. Hardly of epic proportions, but a pain in the ass nonetheless. In the very least, cause enough to void the social calendar (and work, if one is so lucky to (a) have a job and (b) take a snow day without losing said job) and stay home to listen to wintry tunes and drink warm mugs of delight. And, honestly, I can’t think of a better track to lead off your snow day playlist than the initial single from Portland-based White Hinterland’s forthcoming album, Kairos. Hell, even the name of the band shouts winter.

White Hinterland vocalist Casey Dienel – who last made a splash in Lake Blogosphere in October with covers of Justin Timberlake (“My Love”) and Arthur Russell (“Lucky Cloud”) – brings a little Victoria Bergstrom to the album, soft and sweet and a little cute.  The effect works well with the enhanced production of this new album, which is less keyboard-driven than previous efforts, but rather turns to drum machines and chimes to add ethereal whimsy. This is music you should listen to when standing on the warm side of some frosted windows, watching snow fall and pedestrians trudge by, safe inside with steam rising from your cup.

Kairos, the third full-length album from White Hinterland, drops March 9th via Dead Oceans.

White Hinterland – Icarus

White Hinterland – My Love

White Hinterland – Lucky Cloud

Ever find yourself wondering what those loud as hell, feedback-driven, distortion crazy rockers really sound like? I sure do. I mean, I dig a wall of Marshalls as much or more than anyone else, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t wonder what it’d be like to hear J Mascis do an unplugged set. Thing is, a lot of artists don’t do those kinds of sets simply because there are so many ways the art they’ve honed and crafted can fail to translate in the same (or any, really) kind of way. Taking that path is really pretty darn courageous, actually. So when they do undertake such a risk, I think we oughta pay attention.

Which is half the reason behind my selection of “Waitin’ for Something” from the forthcoming King of Prussia EP, The Time of Great Forgetting, as today’s Singles Club offering. The other half of the reason is that it simply rules. A little Willie Nelson, a little Harry Chapin, and a lot of gentle western swing in the song in that perfect kind of way that makes me want to sip on a cheap, coozied beer and visit with my dad. All that sounds fine and dandy, good even, but none of it really sounds like the King of Prussia we’ve come to know and love thanks to their psychadelic, Brit-tastic pop albums, particularly 2008′s savory Save the Scene.

What I love about this release is that it doesn’t strike me as genre-switching just for the hell of it, a la Beck or even Ween. Rather, it seems like the unstripping of dominant influences and sensibilities to reveal the humble and homespun core at root. There is an organic loveliness to this work, and while I imagine the band’s next full-length won’t sound all that much like it, I sure hope it does.

King of Prussia’s The Time of Great Forgetting EP drops on February 2nd via Kindercore.

King of Prussia – Waitin’ for Something

Today’s Singles Club offering has got to win the 2009 award for best song title of the year. Although I went with the singular “Ovipositor” in the headline, the full name for this track is actually “I’ll Ram My Ovipositor Down Your Throat and Lay My Eggs In Your Chest, But I’m Not An Alien!” (Apparently an ovipositor is what insects use to lay eggs, which is also referred to as oviposition. Check out this link for more information on all things ovipositorish, but be warned, this is some serious Sigourney Weaver-Aliens shit.) The band that brings it to us, Kalamazoo’s appropriately named The Reptilian, describes itself as somehow post-hardcore, screamo, and math rock, and while you don’t really get all that on today’s track, which is the opener on The Reptilian’s 2009 Boys’ Life EP (Count Your Lucky Stars Records), the live show images from the band’s myspace page seem to confirm the appropriateness of such descriptors.

Instead, what you get on this track is some smart and technical noodling layered over and under this simple yet persistent percussion, while the occasional hoarse vocal drops in. If the vocals were more languid, or at least less thrash-rap, I could see this band opening a bill that eventually ended with Akron/Family (though you might call me crazy for suggesting such a thing.)

The Reptilian – I’ll Ram My Ovipositor Down Your Throat and Lay My Eggs In Your Chest, But I’m Not An Alien!

Merry Christmas, friends. We here at Citizen Dick really and truly appreciate your continued support and loyal readership, and after all, what’s more supportive and loyal than tuning in on Christmas day to see what the final track for our 12 Days of Holiday Dick series is going to be.

Well, this one is a treat. Putting this series together, I listened to a few dozen different indie rock holiday songs and of all of them, this one by Portland’s Blue Skies for Black Hearts was my favorite. Off the XO holiday sampler like Monday’s Jessie Torrisi cover of Alvin & the Chipmunks, “Wishing You A Merry Xmas” somehow pulls together a banjo and piano boogie with a slight punk rock snarl. The snarl is not without a corresponding smile, though, as the background vocals between the repeated titular refrain drone out little quips like “What about Kwanzaa” and Where are the presents?”

Blue Skies For Black Hearts – Wishing You A Merry Xmas

It is altogether fitting and proper that this particular San Francisco band decided to release as its first single off its first record this song. Longtime Mission District veterans, Matos and bandmates Ben Reisdorph, Joe Miller, and Joe Lewis have been in the indie rock game in the Bay area long enough to be able to make some regal pronouncments and wind up pretty darn near the mark in doing so. The experience shows in Words of the Knife, the band’s first album together, and especially in today’s Singles Club entry, “High Priest of the Mission.”

Starting with a tiny bit of 70s-style organ noodling (is that a Farfisa?), the tropical guitar strumming comes in next, followed by drums and then Matos and his young-Tweedy vocals (minus the damaged artist affectation). It all comes together to form a beachside romp, the song’s sound is far more gentle than the indictment in the lyrics (i.e., lines like “you are a nuclear reactor/you are the desert sand” and “you talk about but you say nothing”), further betrayed by a subtle “high priest of submission” riff in the second half of the song.

PS – Like how I dropped some Lincolnesque shit on you at the beginning of this post? What can I say? I’m a proud son of Illinois.

Mark Matos & Os Beaches – High Priest of the Mission

Although this series has been a lot of fun to write as it is, my sincere hope for it is that, after a dozen days of downloads and gimmickly visuals, you’ll have found a handful of tracks (or at least one, damn it) by artists you’d not previously gotten a chance to wade into. I know that was my experience as I listened to various tracks and selected each day’s new song. Today’s track, “xoxmas” by Woodpigeon, is the perfect example of that for me.

Prior to this series, I was blithely unaware of the beautiful and delicate work being done by Calgary-based Mark Andrews and a cohort of friends and artistic colleagues, but after digesting “xoxmas” and some of the other tracks streaming on the band’s myspace page, you better believe that I’ll be in line on January 12th to scoop up his new LP, Die Stadt Muzikanten, which will be released by Boompa that day. Haunting, ethereal, atmospheric – all the usual descriptors that go along with these apply. This is an album I think people are gonna get excited about early next year. Until then, though, we have Andrews’s holiday gift to us to enjoy.

Woodpigeon – xoxmas

It is snowing outside as I write this. Snowing. Can you believe it? Well, I guess you can believe it. After all, it is December, and I do live in the rust belt. So, yeah, snowing makes sense. It does not, however, make me happy.

Very little about winter makes me happy, to be honest, so it is really quite a t0-do when something wintry and seasonal makes me smile. Today’s iteration of Holiday Dick does just that. The first single off a just released seven inch for the holidays, “I’m a Snowman” is about as summertime bubblegum pop as you can expect a holiday season song to be. Folks already hip to the Bears sound will be happy, as the single is a nice continuation of the work they turned out on last year’s Simple Machinery. Readers new to the band, get ready for the best dude pop outside Brooklyn (or inside that fine borough’s boundaries, for that matter). Those of you prone to S.A.D., however, shouldn’t listen to the lyrics too closely. Though often quite funny, they are equally dark and depressing. Just a hint – Snowman is a metaphor. And that can’t be good, right?

Finally, as a special note for our Cleveland readers, Bears will be headlining the Beachland Ballroom’s Holiday Bash on Wednesday. More information on the gig poster that follows!

Bears – I’m A Snowman

Click here to view the embedded video.

Things that I love (an incomplete list):

(a) The absurd

(b) Lebron James

(c) anthropomorphization

(d) reindeer

(e) mediocre rap music

(f) puppets

(g) mediocre rap music sung by anthropomorphized reindeer puppets

Looks like somebody is getting a new pair of kicks.  Nike, you devilish siren, you’ve finally developed an ad campaign that features all of my favorite things.  I don’t give a shit if the sneakers the reindeer is wearing are made from the skins of clubbed baby seals and sewn together by starving Martian orphans; I need a pair of the shoes that the reindeer is pushing.  Most fascinating is that the reindeer doesn’t even seem to be pimping a particular pair of sneakers, just the vague notion of something or other branded with a swoosh.  Done and done.  Hook me up with a sweatshirt and some Jordans, baby.  That reindeer is the tits.  (Editor’s note: Commercials are stupid.  This one just happens to be so stupid that it’s funny.  God bless the Youtube.)

For some reason, the name of this band always makes me think of South Africa. Is that weird? Strange or not, the Danish rockers in Slaraffenland play this version of the century-old Christmas classic carol (itself a version of an old Czech folk tune) pretty straight, except for the barely discernible laser-like effects and the occasional mild feedback. They even bust out the horns and piano, though in a terrific minimalist fashion. The middle of the track gets a little more complicated and a little more similar to the experimental approach that characterized the band’s 2009 release, We’re On Your Side.

This track, as well as yesterday’s Megafaun contribution, comes to you from the 2009 Hometapes holiday sampler, which was released on eight separate days. To download the other songs in this series – including holiday songs by bands like All Tiny Creatures, The Caribbean, and Pattern Is Movement, among others – click here.

Slaraffenland – Little Drummer Boy

There might not be a band that received as much love from Citizen Dick in 2009 as Megafaun. I think every single one of us writers was gape-jawed dumbstruck by how awesome their Gather, Form and Fly record was. We all have different ways of tossing superlatives, but I think I like Brian’s best of all. I can tell when he really loves something by when he stresses how long he’s gonna listen to a record. Bands that rate months of listening top those that rate weeks, and years beat both. By this measure, I’ll probably be listening to Gather, Form and Fly a couple reincarnations from now.

Similarly, if I ever make a lifetime holiday soundtrack, the version of “I Saw Three Ships” by these bearded fellas is a cinch to make the cut. Gentle and spartan, the guys sing in harmony for the opening thirty seconds before a scantly picked banjo joins in. Eventually the strumming gets stronger and an occasional harmonica and then guitar come in, as well,  helping the boys in the band take it home, nice and easy.

Megafaun – I Saw Three Ships

There are guys out there with all the vision in the world. Sometimes they got the talent, too, but even then they need to pull a group of folks together to surround them for their vision to fly straight and true. That’s a taller order than you might think, getting a creative type with talent to bring folks into his universe in a way that improves the vision rather than leads to disaster. Some folks are pros at doing this, guys like Tim DeLaughter and Daniel Smith, while there are probably countless other names we’ll never know because they couldn’t get it done. Tony Confalone, though, that’s a name I think we’re gonna keep hearing.

The pride and joy of Somerville, Mass, Confalone did just what needed to be done. He wrote a bunch of great songs under the nome d’arte Tony the Bookie and then went out and got some folks to do session work with him to get the idea down on the record. He didn’t mess around doing so, either, getting some pretty killer help in the form of a super-solid lap steel player (Eric Provinsil), a solid rock drummer (Nick Branigan) and a guitar and bass combo (Patrick Grenham and Ello DeLuca, respectively). The end result was a sound tighter than OJ’s glove, a frontman operation where the frontman is sitting back with everybody else, getting down to some gritty, grungy countrified twang rock.

Earlier this year, the band put a sorta self-titled release, Tony the Bookie Presents … The Tony the Bookie Orchestra, and, goofy nomenclatural tendencies aside, it rules. Two of the strongest tracks on the album have been included with this review for your auditory perusal, but I strongly suggest you check out the rest of the record, too. (You can do so right here.)

Tony the Bookie – True Love

Tony the Bookie – She Don’t Wear Black

We don’t get very punk on this site very often, but sometimes the occasion calls for it, and what’s more punk than Christmas?

OK – maybe that isn’t the best way to start this post.

How about this?

You know what I think “Oh Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” needs? Some speed and some raw fucking rock, that’s what. Doesn’t everybody?

Alright, maybe that isn’t the best way either.

Truly, I’m confused how to start this post. So I’ll just say Santa Dick has some punk rock carolage for you today, thanks to mid-90s Louisiana punk band Hand Bob the Spoon. Sadly, the band is now defunct, though interested parties can still check out a branch-off of the band in the form of Heelsplitter, typically found busking here and there throughout the rust belt.

Hand Bob the Spoon – God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

Another day, another singles club posting where the lead singer clearly grew up on Caleb Followill’s vocals. This time we have Québécois rockers We Are Wolves, who are about to drop their third full-length album, Invisible Violence, on American ears in early 2010. In all fairness, the band has been in operation almost as long as Kings of Leon have, officially coming together in 2002 but with collaborations dating back to 2000.

It has only really been since 2005 that the band has truly entered the indie rock conversation, when their debut full length, Non-Stop Je Te Plie En Deux, was put out by Fat Possum. Since then, though, they’ve been greedily devoured by critics and listeners like so much poutine (sorry, couldn’t resist); a critical reception that has continued through the subsequent release of Total Magicque (2007, Dare too Care) and numerous mega-festival appearances.

Invisible Violence finds the band continuing its freneticism, while somehow also feeling their oats in a luxuriating but grimy kind of way. “Holding Hands,” the first single to be released off the forthcoming album, is a barn-burner of a song, but also one that seems a bit more Alabama than Montreal. The  band, on this track at least, is a bit less dancy and a bit more punk, but the kind of punk you could get your groove on to, even if you are a beardy longhair.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Invisible Violence, the third release by Montreal’s We Are Wolves, comes out on Dare to Care on February 2, 2010.

We Are Wolves – Holding Hands

After a couple days in a row of melancholy Holiday Dick offerings, we need to get upbeat in a hurry. And what makes for a more upbeat wintry day than one that has just been called off by a school superintendent for excessive snowfall? (This, of course, does not take into consideration the POV of the parents involved, but we are concerned with the rock, not the cradle on this here blog.)

Fortunately for us, one of the bands that has already garnered high marks from us for their recent full-length release also has the perfect to track to share with you. The title track and album closer from their 2007 EP Snowday, Afternoon Naps actually dropped this track for a Christmas Day release! How much more holiday cheer can you get? One listen to the Harry Nilsson meets Burl Ives and some gift-wrapped instrumental twee and you’ll be hooked, wishing for your own day out in the snow.

Afternoon Naps – Snowday

When you first hear that Globes on Remote are from L.A., you are almost certainly gonna say aloud, “Of course they are from L.A. – they couldn’t be from anywhere else!” The quirky space kitsch pop band, from the glammy twee to the characterological narratives, oozes a City of Angels aura that can’t be missed. The band’s entire recent debut, The Woo Hoo Hoo, is infused with the Spacelab meets Kids Incorporated and MST3k vibe, but it is particularly noticeable on “Space Camp .”  A formulaic pop song, the track gains extra cred and heft from its Rentals/A-ha/Buggles mash-up melody and a chorus that sticks with you long after you’d have expected it to go away.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Globes on Remote’s self-released debut album, The Woo Hoo Hoo, was released on November 17th.

Globes on Remote – Space Camp

Globes on Remote – D.T. Lipps

No disrespect to the month of December, but I’m getting super excited for January. You, me, and the creepy dude down the street are in for an ass-load of solid indie rock releases the first month of 2010, and Citay’s forthcoming Dream Get Together is the latest addition to my “albums to look forward to as 2010 dawns” list.

Dream Get Together, which will be released by Dead Oceans on January 26th, finds the San Francisco jam-pop collective stretching out, and adding a little Athens, GA-style quirk to the rugged 70s riffs that characterized their previous Dead Oceans release, 2007′s Little Kingdom.

The new record is set to open with “Careful With That Hat,” a lengthy Neil Young meets ‘luded-up Phish and R.E.M. plus a little soprano breathy “ah-ah-ah” pop track that aptly prepares the listener for all that follows. Nearly 7 minutes long, it shouldn’t surprise you to see me use a descriptor like sprawling, but Citay makes the most of the minutes, changing gears and attitudes throughout the ride.

The third quarter of the song is perhaps the best, with a grungy belly riff that comes in underneath some of the more amusing pop affect that preceded it and turns the whole thing into something more guttural and dramatic than you might have expected. The song ends where you’d expect a Phish jam to get started, a deft choice in my humble opinion.

Citay – Careful With That Hat

Such is the case, in my marginally humble opinion, with Coconut and the Duke’s recently released take on Vampire Weekend’s “Walcott.” The duo, which usually perform a delightful blend of original lazy-folk, have an ongoing monthly cover series that has previously included artists like Danny Elfman, Bryan Adams, and Eddie Money; their take on the hyper-elite New York indie rockers is merely the November edition of the series.

Ordinarily, I steer clear of parroting publicity comments – that’s a founding principle of this here blog, actually – but the notes that came with the mp3-laden email that included this version of “Walcott” were just too perfect to keep to myself.

Vampires seem to be everywhere these days. So it makes perfect sense for Coconut and The Duke to cover Vampire Weekend’s “Walcott”. Instead of a keyboard-driven anthem, the invasive folk duo have slowed it down – brought the song from the stadium into the parlor. Special guest, The Duchess handles the lead vocals.

Nice wordsmithing, eh? I thought so. Of course, I’ll add a few of my own. I love the folkified jangle of the instrumentals in this version, as well as the exceptional enunciation of the lyrics. Slowing it down and clarifying matters shows what a versatile song “Walcott” is and, while I prefer this new adaptation, it provides tremendous evidence of the writing chops that belong to Head Vampire Ezra Koenig. The effects of the tune still recall to mind a coastal mindset, but this time you get more of a Hollywood’s score to a beach vacation scene than the in-your-face multi-culti multikulti hammer of the original. And even if you liked that hammer, you’ll still find the treatment “Walcott” receives here respectful, restrained, and right on.

Coconut and the Duke – Walcott

We aren’t even three dozen deep into this singles club series and already we’ve found our first repeat performers. Kora Records’ Stricken City, a London-based art/indie dance pop outfit, follow up their mid-September appearance in the series with another tune, “Small Things.” The second single to be released off the band’s just dropped debut album, Songs About People I Know, “Small Things” goes in a different direction altogether than the first single, “Pull the House Down,” making the likelihood that you, like we Citizen Dicks, will fall in love with the entire album all the greater.

Going with rapid-fire guitar bursts where “Pull the House Down” possessed a dancier groove, “Small Things” doesn’t abandon the feet-moving feelings even as it moves a little closer down the continuum toward rock, if only for the enhanced addition of distortion and feedback. As much as I love my music drenched in fuzz, vocalist Rebekah Raa’s voice is too luscious to cover up like that, even if the effect overall is strong.  This is one you are going to want to listen to over and over again, grabbing the nuances and making out the lyrics.

Check out Stricken City’s other material for yourself here. If you like it, you can purchase the album here. In the meantime, feast your eyes on the visuals from the band’s performance of the track at the Fader Fort during the recent CMJ festivities below.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Stricken City – Small Things

Here’s what I like about Social Studies: They release a digital single titled The Hourglass, yet neither song on the single is actually titled “The Hourglass.” Makes you think. Or, rather, it makes me think. You probably wouldn’t stumble so easily on something so small. My metaphorical feet are dainty, I guess, and my similitic balance is poor.

Also, I’m not being totally honest here. The mysterious name thing mentioned previously is not the only thing I like about the new-on-the-scene San Francisco indie pop troupe; I like a lot about them. I like the chair-dancing, torso-bopping enthusiasm of their instrumentals, I like the not-exactly-twee, not-exactly-Swedish, but something just as sweet vocals of head crooner Natalia Rogovin, I like the simplicity and humility of their approach. I like the band, period. Recurring comparisons to Fiery Furnaces are apt, as would – maybe – be Lichtenstein. Regardless of the names chosen to drop, these guys are good, confection and substance in a cool and kind package.

Social Studies plays TONIGHT in Citizen Dick hometown Cleveland with a FREE show at the B-Side Lounge (beneath the inimitable Grog Shop) and then continues eastward with gigs to come in Massachusetts, Connecticut, Brooklyn (x3), and Philly before wrapping up the tour with a Daytrotter Session and a triumphant return to the bougie-boho climes of San Fran. If any of these cities happen to be the one where you lay your head, be sure to check this promising pop outfit out. If you can’t or happen to live elsewhere, keep an eye out for the band’s full-length, Wind-Up Wooden Heart, set to drop in 2010. Most certainly they’ll be back east of the Mississippi then as they ply their trade and sell the album.

Social Studies – Time Bandit

Social Studies – We Choose Our Own Adventures

Independent rock and roll seems cleanly cleaved into a couple different groups, at least when it comes to the role sex plays: asexual well-behaved (largely) pale dudes in skinny jeans and hyper-sexual bad boys, also largely pale and donning the ever-present skinny jeans. Electric Tickle Machine falls clearly into the latter category, with lyrics about pussy power and disease complemented by a sex-pout style seen on frontmen throughout the history of rock. I mean, shit, their debut release, Blew It Again, has a faceless lassie’s not quite covered at all breasts featured pretty darn prominently on the cover!

Complete with loud messy guitars, a rich layering of sound, and some pretty killer drumming, the songs on Blew It Again strikes me as something The Flaming Lips could’ve recorded in the 90s had they moved away from psychadelia toward semi-mainstream indie rock style rather than avant garde art rock. This is particularly true for the title track as well as “Part of Me,” while “Gimme Money” seems to have a touch of The Clash in it.

 Electric Tickle Machine sound like your jam? Then check them out as they continue on their cross-country tour. They hit Citizen Dick hometown Cleveland TONIGHT with a gig at Now That’s Class, and continue westward to the Pacific Northwest, down south through California, and back east through Texas to tour ender Memphis.

Electric Tickle Machine – Blew It Again

Electric Tickle Machine – Part of Me

Electric Tickle Machine – Gimme Money

Raise your hand if you like thought experiments.

Cool, me too.

Since you are still reading, I’ll take that as consent and keep going with this hook. Imagine we live in a more just and progressive society where anyone can marry anyone else, and Annie Clark and Laetitia Sadier have decided to come together in wedded bliss. Imagine they go on to raise a child together, a lovely daughter, and while she takes Clark’s voice, she eschews the American mommy’s penchant for the hyper-theatrical and pretension for the French mommy’s subtle cool and back-beat proclivities. That little girl, all grown up, would then become the frontwoman of a band of her own, one that would release a record very similar to today’s review subject, Flotilla’s One Hundred Words for Water.

OK – that’s a pretty terrible thought experiment – it violates all sorts of time and space assumptions and, even if it didn’t, is still a pretty ham-fisted hook for getting across my central points: that familiarity with the previous two references will immediately render
Flotilla’s new album accessible and that the band’s vocalist, Veronica Charnley, rightfully deserves to be mentioned in the same conversation as other indie rock luminaries like the ladies commanding the St Vincent and Stereolab operations.

(Side note: I once stood behind Sadier in line at the front desk of the Austin Motel waiting to check out. If I recall, she was buying postcards. I remember thinking about how tall she seemed onstage versus in person.)

As a group, Flotilla is both talented and wise. Each member is more than capable in handling their respective instrumental duties, and you get the vibe they really understand, as a collective, what their act is about. This is a band filled with particularly solid musicians that do a commendable job of comfortably enveloping their singer, who is the clear central focus of the album. The men and women who make up Flotilla know who they are and what they do and go with it – there is no discernible tension between front and back – there doesn’t even seem to be a front and back, but instead great music complementing great vocals.

One Hundred Words for Water starts off with a dark introduction courtesy of the album-opener, “Song for Yannick.” Listening to the lyrics, you wonder what wild beast the singer is referring to as it bides its time and rations its meals. A monster? A ghost? A kidnapping victim? Here’s a hint: the song is really about a kitty, a rather adorable one at that, but don’t let that knowledge interfere with your imagination.

In fact, imagination is the listener’s best friend when it comes to this album. In song after song, Flotilla provides a careful listener with half-complete outlines and sketches of alternative worlds and events, but still leaves plenty of room for interpretation and filling in the rest of the story. For example, “Ghost in a Landscape” reminds me of the dark side of memory, more specifically of the fear one can have of becoming a memory and no longer an active participant in a setting or aspect of life. This song is telling a story about something or, better still, someone, but who and why remain cloaked in mist. Perhaps it is a vague reference to a story about a funeral, or perhaps Alzheimer’s, or even losing a friend for a short while as they serve a stint at rehab. Regardless of the true backstory, the individual in question is gone, and seem to be suffering for it. Or take, as another example, “Ophelia.” While I love the way Charnley croons the phrase “couldn’t be bothered” on this track, even more compelling is the chance to imagine yet another back-story, in this case maybe a failed relationship that, had it not been for the flood the narrator discovers, would have been felt more immediately and painfully but, given the fact that the ground floor of the storyteller’s home was now underwater, she simply “couldn’t be bothered” to be heart-broken, at least not yet. Or, even more vivid, the rare idyllic visuals from an eco-dystopia that might accompany “Old Mill.” Finally, consider “Meet Me Outside,” which I could see as the soundtrack to a loneliness montage in the anti-climactic moment of an independent romantic comedy about a couple where one of the two find themselves in prison.

As wonderfully cryptic and provocative as these song half-tales are, they remain only a part, however important, of broader compositions. Each song on the album deserves to be reckoned with on its own, from the multi-dimensional “Song for Yannick” that first made me think of the aforementioned St Vincent comparison (with the rapid change with organ effects) and Stereolab (in the rushing epilogue, when the reenergizing powers of the subject affix themselves to the narrator’s romance) or the imposing anxiety of “Charlie, I’m Through” with its discordant pairing of perhaps the album’s most upbeat music with its most tense lyrics. It reminds you of those terrible moments in life when you remember that the only thing worse than an uncomfortable confrontation is when one of the participants takes an inappropriately happy tone during it. “Charlie, I’m Through” is the musical equivalent of this exprerience, with its danceable, almost Daft Punk-ian beats that, as you listen more carefully to the words, you probably shouldn’t want to feel like dancing to. Far less tense, but even more complex is “Clouds.” So much so, it strikes me as inappropriate to discuss “Clouds” as a singular entity – in reality, the nearly seven-minute epic is like four different songs, with the most divergent moments being the most technically astute, particularly in the middle period when a lovely interlude transitions into something akin to a techno-lite mini-symphony that is constantly evolving in speed and level, before fading out and being replaced by darling vocals and more mundane accompaniment.

There are so many things I love on this album. The brass effects “Prelude and Epilogue” with the driving guitars underneath, the culminating and overlapping one-woman round in “Charlie, I’m Through,” the cleavage separating the two halves of “Two Boys” with the first half seemingly describing breaking up and the second half as the attempts by the dumper to buck herself up (“they’ll be better off now …”), the breathy “ah ah ahs”and subtly melodious orchestral backing in “Clouds,” the fuzzed rock that begins and ends “Old Mill.” In fact, other than the entirety of “Meet Me Outside,” these moments in “Old Mill” are the ones I’d relish the most should an opportunity to see Flotilla live ever present itself. I could go on, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll leave you with this: buy this album. You’ll love it, too.

Flotilla’s One Hundred Words for Water is currently available for purchase here. Although the band does not currently have announced any plans for extensive touring, our New York readers will have an opportunity to see them play in the city when they hit Fontana’s on November 3rd and The Delancey on November 23rd. (Special note to A&R types: these are a pair of shows you are gonna want to attend. Just sayin’.)

Flotilla – Song for Yannick

Flotilla – Clouds

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