Tag Archive: Domino Records


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Rating: 9.8/10 (6 votes cast)

Whoever said there are no second acts in America apparently never met Owen Pallett. The versatile artist who once performed under the moniker Final Fantasy has not only survived since shedding the JRPG-inspired name, he has positively thrived between touring with The Mountain Goats, lending a hand on recent releases by Gentleman Reg and Gigi, and continuing to burnish his credentials as the reigning indie rock orchestral composer and, thanks to Wayne Coyne’s love for the sound of his own voice, a twitterific advocate for social justice, pitchfork-style. Add to this the fact that his latest record (also the first to be released under his new eponymous approach) has been garnering wholly merited oohs and ahhs from the bloggerati and you have a pretty strung hunch that the decade we’ve all just entered is going to be a good one for the Toronto-based violinist.

That record, Heartland, is a doozy, a concept album in the finest way that deserves dialogical communion with Van Occupanther and last year’s Edward Sharpe album (and, hopefully, foreshadows equally excellent conceptual efforts by The Besnard Lakes and Titus Andronicus later this year). Pallett shows off both his skills as an arranger and his affection for well-executed theatrical camp on Heartland, scoring his other-worldly tale of a young, ultra-violent farmer named Lewis and a supreme deity named Owen in a manner that recalls Andrew Lloyd Webber as much as it does Arcade Fire.

Once you know the initial premise, the album proceeds in a narrative way that manages poetry without being cryptic. Early into the album, a careful listener becomes aware of Pallett’s clever awareness, as he notes in the album opener “Midnight Directives” that men can be bought and sold and that “the price of a hundred thousand unwatered souls/ is a bit of meat and a bit of coal”  and when, on “Keep the Dog Quiet” he describes a union as a “cage about a cage about a cage” and  a remove as  “a narrative mess.” Later in the record, Pallett links a “concatenation” of locusts with farmers losing their focus, and never slicks a step. At other moments, the lyrics are incredibly visual, to the point that “Red Sun No. 5″ has the listener wishing for an accompanying coffee-table photo book  or well-illustrated graphic novel, while “Mt. Alpentine” and “Flare Gun” deserve the kind of map Tolkein enthusiasts get so much joy from.

While one couldn’t say Pallett exactly dabbles in brevity, his arrangements are efficient, avoiding sonic detours and sidesteps, instead getting the most out of every second. Bursts of intensity like “Mount Alpentine” cram an incredible amount of drama into its small frame, and when Pallett does stretch out a little, it comes perfectly, as on the youthfully Sousan “Lewis Takes Action,” which contrasts starkly with the medieval Kubrickosity of the narrative and, particulary, the incipient Ronettes back-beat that introduces the song. Such contrast is rife throughout Heartland, particularly on the album’s next track, “The Great Elsewhere,” which combines a jagged and technological desolation with a sea-based religious reverie.

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While at times the narrative of a different world in a different era slips – see, for example, references to Earth-bound phenomena such as Disney, ketamine, and Bulgaria – Heartland features enough great songs to forgive a little continuity glitches. Among these stand-outs are, in addition to the aforementioned “Lewis Takes Action,” are the impassioned and perfectly titled “Oh Heartland, Up Yours!” and the upbeat swirl of “Lewis Takes Off His Shirt.” Elsewhere, modern western influences make their mark – from the Warner Bros vibe of “Flare Gun” and the Phantom of the Opera meets The Chronicles of Narnia and “Cats in the Cradle” geist of “E is for Estranged” – providing a welcome aesthetic hook on which to hang your listening references.

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Heartland, Owen Pallett’s third full-length, was released January 18th via Domino Records. You can purchase it here.

Owen Pallett – Lewis Takes Action

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In 2009, The Dirty Projectors not only put out an album (Bitte Orca) that hovered near the top of many of the more influential end-of-year rankings (e.g., Pitchfork, Pop Matters, Rolling Stone, etc.),  they did something much more difficult. That is, they put out a record that – like, love, or loathe – a writer had to acknowledge. If it wasn’t on your list, you had to say why. If it was on it, but in the basement, you had to justify it. There weren’t many other records like that in 2009, arguably just Veckatimest and Merriweather Post Pavilion, so even a writer like me, who didn’t really care for Bitte Orca, has to acknowledge that the album was “important” (even though I hate that word so).

Now, Dave Longstreth and co. are back with a new 7″ release to tide their hungry fan base over until another full length drops. The single du jour is “Ascending Melody,” a survivor from the Bitte Orca sessions that didn’t make the album cut, as is the case with the B-side track, “Emblem of the World.” Considering this, it isn’t surprising that the only thing that has changed from the full-length’s original release to this new single is the dropped definite article in the band’s name. The same kind of minimalistic yet chaotic cacophonic pop persists, with all three vocalists taking their pipes out for a trot. If you loved Bitte Orca, you are gonna devour these two new tracks with glee. And if you didn’t, your mind likely won’t be changed.

Ascending Melody, the new Dirty Projectors single, was released on January 11th by Domino. You can purchase the vinyl version here.

Dirty Projectors – Ascending Melody

Dirty Projectors – Emblem of the World

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Rating: 8.8/10 (8 votes cast)

twodancersartworkIf Wild Beasts’ two lead singers were one single dude, they would be the greatest male vocalist ever.  On my first listen through the English quartet’s deeply entertaining second record, Two Dancers, I was convinced that Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming, rather than two talented singers were, indeed, one mega-singer, kind of like the blue alien soloist in The Fifth Element. In particular, the paired vocals on “All the King’s Men,” (which you can hear below) with Thorpe’s wild falsetto howl (“Watch me, watch me”),  immediately followed by Fleming’s smoother, more sensual tones (“the belle of the ball…”) were similar enough in intonation to convince me that one cat was wailing through both of them; full disclosure: I felt a little cheated when I did the old due diligence and sorted out that there are indeed two lead singers in Wild Beasts.  (Quick digression:  Mrs. Citizen, in particular, was bummed out when she heard the news.  She’d been humming “All the King’s Men” all week and was under the impression that the singer was a male second coming of Whitney Houston and her four octave range.)  However, if my own confusion underscores anything, it’s that Wild Beasts have a sound that is both unique and varied.  There are traces of things that sound familiar on Two Dancers (there’s a snippet of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” on the hard to pin down “We Still Got the Taste Dancing on Our Tongues” for instance), but, for the most part, the occassioally outlandish vocals, vaguely 80s-eqsue soundscapes and lyrical content alternatingly seedy and frat-boy naughty sound like nothing else that comes readily to mind.  (You can stretch, but it doesn’t really work.  A less-dancy, way more British VHS or Beta?  Late period The Cure with campier vocals, louder guitars and way less eyeliner? A radically more modern and overtly iconoclastic Wham?  See?  There’s not a lot of easy comparison here.  If I’m missing something obvious, hit it in the comments.)

At least part of the appeal of Wild Beasts is that they describe acting irresponsibly and (maybe) imorally with panache and confidence, while managing to seem a little guilty about it.  That’s a tone with a lot of subtlety, a characteristic that’s often missing from modern music.  When the band sings “What’s so wrong with just a little fun,” they’re both acknowledging questionable behavior and seeking approval for it.  Bad-ass.  In parts, the band brings to mind Bill Buford’s classic Among the Thugs, an exploration of soccer holliganism.  (Read it immediately if you haven’t.)  One of the fundamental arguments of that book is that it’s nearly impossible to deal with a large group of people who refuse to acknowledge any rules.  Wild Beasts can sound like the purest of hooligans on Two Dancers, but they seem to have second thoughts right after.

Clocking in at under forty minutes, Two Dancers is over in a flash.  The songs that stand out on the record are the ones that either showcase the vocals of Thorpe and Fleming or the ones that highlight the chops and craftiness of lead guitarist Ben Little.  The title track and it’s sequel (literally; it’s labeled as “Two Dancers II”) are the only spot where the album drags a touch; the two tunes are, I’d argue, significantly darker than the rest of the record, both lyrically and sonically (it’s vague, but there’s clearly some sort of sexual abuse being described throughout both).  The songs work; I’m not suggesting they suck, but they seem slightly out of place on an album that opens with a repeated shout out to booty calls.  Given that much of the record hits two tones on the sexually tinged content, a sort of cynical celebration of debauchery paired with an almost baroque carelessness, the “Two Dancers” pieces make sense.  That said, they still bum me out.  Wild Beasts could have taken the bloom off the rose a bit more delicately perhaps.

Those reservations aside, the first three songs on Two Dancers are top-drawer.  The record opens with a minute or two of slowly building, semi-dance music before Thorpe’s falsetto laces into the speakers.  If, like me, you missed Wild Beasts first record, the over-the-top dramatics and pitch changes in Thorpe’s delivery are going to be a bit shocking to the ear.  They also rule.  We get more of them in “Hooting and Howling,” which starts off contemplative and spare, but grows into a bit of a sonic whirlwind.  It’s the track that sticks with me the most; I love the subtle drum entrance, the mild sonic explosion around the minute mark and the way that Thorpe pushes out the word “brutes” over and over.  All told, it’s a humdinger.  Completing the assault that is the first three tracks is the aforementioned “All the King’s Men,” which has a couple of killer lyrics, including repeated references to girls in all sorts of positions. The tune also features the deeply catchy, multitracked oh-oh-oh-ohs, which, strangely, remind me of the similarly subverted doo-wop stylings on Grizzly Bear’s “Two Weeks.”  (I could be way off base there.  I haven’t been able to stop listening to Veckatimest lately, so it might infiltrating my brain when it ought not.)  There are other spots that shine on the record, notably “We Still Got the Taste Dancing on Our Tongues,” with its almost aggressively hedonistic posturing, shouted, semi-western chanting and bizarre U2 reference.  The album’s closer, “The Empty Nest” is also a winner, with a guitar line that could work in a calypso, which you don’t see work out with any sort of regularity.  Taking all things into account, the kick-ass opener, the middle two songs that strike me as out of place and the remaining songs occasionally touching greatness, you’ve got a record that you can listen to straight through while you fold your laundry or some such.  It hits shelves on this side of the pond on September 8th and is well worth checking out.  (English folks have had it since August, but we won’t hold that against them.)

Wild Beasts – All the King’s Men

Pre-order Wild Beasts at insound.

Given that I can’t swim at all (I’m fairly convinced that I don’t float and jellyfish scare the hell out of me), the video for “Hooting and Hollering” is terrifying.  The song, however, is impossible to shake.

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dirty-projectors

They hype train regarding Dave Longstreth and Dirty Projectors’ Bitte Orca is moving at a speed fast enough to plow through a mountain, so it’s probably irrelevant to mention the back catalogue of influences that rise to the top in the album, and it’s probably a bit naive to assume our readership isn’t aware of how big this album already is and will be on June 9th when it’s released. For some natural contrarians, the hype this record has garnered pre-release makes it easy to stamp it with reject and move on. In much the same way that Vampire Weekend was the darling of 2008, I suppose the hype associated with an album will always bring its fair share of naysayers, and to be honest, there are some here at Citizen Dick that have shied away from spinning this album because of its nature. Everyone’s on top of it right? Everyone is singing its praises right? It’s already been reviewed, so why bother? Is it as good as people say or is this just another example of the hype machine running away with a unique album that will end up on year-end lists and be forgotten just as easily? The rhetorical questions blanket this release much, much less than the sonic liveliness and intelligently arranged goodness does. The album is good. It’s sparkling with intensity and tension. It’s a lofty album and Longstreth and crew have enough chops and talent to warrant (almost) all of the hype that’s been thrown their way.

If familiar with Longstreth’s previous work, you’ll understand that artistic experimentation is quite the norm and he’s not afraid the push the boundaries of musical comfort zones. Bitte Orca clips along in a similar vein but the first thing that’s immediately present is more accessibility. In my opinion, this is a boon to the record, as tracks like “Stillness is the Move” and “Cannibal Resource” are pleasant in their tension filled and angular progressions. “Stillness” is all Amber Coffman and her pipes, with a looped out almost Eastern inspired guitar riff as a backdrop. Despite the kickass bluesy and rustic undertones, the track is intriguing, largely, because of its accessibility, despite the images it conjures of belly dancers and lands I’ve never traveled to. Likewise, “Cannibal Resource” begins the album with a familiar bouncy bass riff, hand claps, tribal harmonized vocal spurts and epic largeness. Despite angular shifts and dives into oddball quirkiness, Dirty Projectors, at least on this album, come to play ball and please the ears.

dirty_projectors-bitte_orca-artThe guitar work is absolutely spectacular, and while it’s never completely dominant on any specific track on the album, people who know how to play an axe will be able to appreciate the incredible arrangement Bitte Orca lays out. “Temecular Sunrise,” a track that’s been splattered all over the blogosphere for months, begins with Dave’s 12-string finger picking and gutsy dissonance. There’s an off-kilter arrangement that is strangely coupled with traditional bluesy and R&B vocal delivery. Electricity is amped up as the song progresses into some intensely slayed guitar work at the song’s close. Big shifts and changes are largely the centerpiece for tracks like this, and although six different veins seem to be happening all at once, the trained ear should detect a wonderfully adept guitar and bass trio at the core, taking no prisoners with lofty arpeggios, bringing several ecclectic and distinct sounds together into wildly unique yet unified arrangements. Listen for the guitar and bass work at the center, and the album comes to life. Particularly, tracks like “The Bride” somehow mix overly pushed vocals with Zeppelin-esque acoustic arrangements. One listen to this song brings the can’t miss early acoustic work of John Paul Jones straight into your muzzle. It’s easy to focus on the vocals, but that’s not my bag, and time and time again, Longstreth and Coffman slam it down hard on the six strings.

The vocal arrangements are worth noting here, not because they’re entirely accessible and easy to digest in one listen, but more because of how they fit with everything else Dirty Projectors spew forth on the record. The last two minutes of “Remade Horizon” are a headphone odyssey, a quirky mix of Steely Dan and vocals as if they’re randomly blown into glass bottles at a carnival. They crescendo and pop brilliantly at an alarming pace until your brain is spinning and lost in the trance they create. While many tracks obviously feature Longstreth’s warbly and traditional singer/standard vocal delivery, the spastic and classically laced double attack of Coffman and Angel Deradoorian are prominently omnipresent here. This is a big departure from previous efforts and the sonic diversity it brings to the record is thought provoking and intense.

So is Bitte Orca a record that stands up to all the pretense? Our concept of reviewing allows us very little latitude. If we put an album review on our site it’s because we think it’s good, regardless of anticipation or buzz. The initial spin of the album emits a huge amount of sound and artistic flourish, with string sections, rhythm and blues, synthesizer electronics, frenetic percussion, and all the markers of a standout album to the forefront. Hype is irrelevant, really, if we’re speaking about musical value. I’ve never been one who’s big on allowing others to create my taste for me, so I went into this record with a clean palate. I’ve not read a single review on the record, and purposefully ignored listening to a single track until I got the advanced copy. Hype aside, the album is excellent and well worth the purchase if you’re not one of the thousands that already have it locked in on pre-order. Use headphones and enjoy the world Dirty Projectors draws you into. Within three spins, you’ll be singing its praises, too.  I think….

Dirty Projectors – “Stillness is The Move”

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YouTube Preview ImageBobby Driscoll died in 1968, a penniless and drug-beaten shell of a 31 year-old man.  As a prodigious child of Hollywood, Bobby Dee culminated his career as the voice of the animated Peter Pan, which eerily symbolized his own fate.  Peter Pan is canonized because of it’s timeless themes; youthful innocence and the direct defiance of growing up are standard adolescent struggles, and Bobby Driscoll’s real life sagas matched these themes.  Unfortunately, Tinkerbell’s dust didn’t last long enough to save him from his eventual plummet.  A child star in the truest sense, Driscoll won an academy award and firmly planted himself in standard conversations about Shirley Temple and other stars of similar ilk. Sadly, like the wings of Icarus, the soaring heights of stardom singed and melted his success as drugs and domestic turbulence overtook the hero.  As if torn from the pages of J.M. Barrie’s classic, the kid never had a chance.  His pubescent acne led to a non-renewal of Disney’s contract and he became, in every sense of the word, an aimless and drug abusing wanderer.  In his latter days, he rubbed elbows with Warhol in NYC’s art syndicate and hung with avant-garde beatniks, but the cultural movements of the late 60′s left him behind, too, and his death in a ramshackle tenement at the young age of 31 ended a tortured life, but one of intriguingly sentimental ill fortune.comeback

Benjy Ferree’s new LP, Come Back to the Five and Dime, Bobby Dee, Bobby Dee is a concept album revolving around the tortured and yet completely satiating life Driscoll led.  Ferree hearkens back to his childhood love of Peter Pan, and in doing so, has created an album of vintage, grandiose coolness, dripping with influences, shatteringly smart lyricism, and aural atmospheres of blues, 50′s pop, and kick you in the nuts rock n’ roll.  In the wee bit that has been 2009 thus far, Ferree’s ambitious effort is worthy of top album nods, and it’s my strong opinion this this record will show up on plenty of year-end lists this December.  Every now and again, a record of weight and lofty uniqueness hits the shelves, and Ferree has the “it” that sustains stardom.  The key question is whether or not the intelligence and latent nature of the album’s concept, in general, is identifiable enough to connect to listeners.  In short, this side-note is inconsequential, particularly because Ferree isn’t singing for a particular audience, and that’s what makes the LP so unconventionally badass.

What’s crucially important in blending Driscoll’s life into the bruising music, is that we somehow have to be transported back to the late 1950′s.  Fortunately, Ferree takes care of this in the first two tracks of the album.  ”Fear” is not only the first single released off the record, but it’s also an aura producing track that provides the exposition necessary to digest the rest of the LP.  In just 2:50, Ferree and band doo-wop, shoo-wop, bang triangles, grab the family jewels, and wail high pitched vocals into the audience’s eardrums.  Ferree is crooning here, and bass-filled backing vocals create a dreamy jangle up and down into lofty slow-motion crescendos and danceablilty.  I want to sip malts and dance with Peggy Sue at the sock hop when I hear this.  Conceptually, the idea of fear also has to be imported early here, as the fear of embracing adulthood is the demon Bobby Dee never could effectively vanquish.

The iconic tale of a child star gone bad inevitably follows an archetypical narrative. The self-indulgent ignorance of youthful impulse buys and freedom is laid bare here in the track, “Big Business.”  Business is good.  Business is fine.  Business is so good. Stylistically, it’s a big kick back to southern blues.  Ferree’s balls-out coolness emulates a 50′s version of Jack and Meg White if one existed, but something shifty and unique is also present.  As he belts out bring out the pixie dust, it’s intelligently addressing two ideas, Bobby Driscoll’s intense drug addiction, and the dust that made children fly in Peter Pan.  The duality of the smart guy lyrics is  sure to fly over the heads of many a listener; fortunately, the song kicks ass,  so everybody gets a sip.

l_f4df53ca175485e94d5bc35db0b44134Throughout the album, Ferree shifts gears into sentimentality and heavily digs into the yearning nature of Driscoll’s love life.  The high-octane numbers mirror his addictive and reckless side, where the slower jams purposefully aim for character development; I might add, they do this poignantly.  Tracks like “The Grips,” and “Whirlpool of Love” are more contemplative, fusing early and mid 50′s crooning with loftier ideas; themes like the push and pull of sexual attraction, yearning and despair run through each of the throwback slow tracks, and the shift from bluesy rock jams to dreamy bubble gum music, I suppose, is probably similar to the highs and lows Driscoll faced in his few short years on earth. Is Benjy Ferree really this smart?  Yup.

To transition, it’s really the rockers that draw me into the record.  The tunes about addiction, impulse, and craving are what hit me hard, and Ferree accordingly boosts up the volume when addressing these concepts.  ”Blown Out (Gold Doubloons and Pcs of 8)” is one of my favorite tracks on the record, as it bounces a slamming riff against a lyrical pallete of risk-taking naivete.  I’m not a well-read Peter Pan guy, I must confess, but I seem to distinctly remember how the children viewed their world with wonder and excitement, and fantasy ruled the roost.  When Ferree says in the chorus, I was blown out at a ripe old age.  When I turned.  17, the nature of the reflectional narrator grabs ahold of the audience.  Driscoll knows where he fucked up.  But damn, there were some great times involved.  ”Great Scott!” is a jabbing track late in the record, centering around an ass-shaking rhythm, and we’re excited to see how this one plays out live (we will travel the seven seas to see him in 09) , as the crazy energy is blasted at the audience.  Ferree contemplates in Driscoll’s point of view that dyin’s overrated.  It’s been done before, and the indulgence of instant gratification in both love and drugs is painfully smashed together here.  It’s difficult to pinpoint lyrically where the shift takes place, but we’ve roundly decided that two tracks earlier, with “Pisstopher Christopher,” the album peaks and hits all cylinders.

“Pisstopher Christopher” is a childish title for a rock song, let’s face it.  However, it’s purposeful.  The most anthemic, pounding, and brutally kick ass song on the album gets a childhood playground-ish taunt title.  Love it.  The song is a conglomeration of all of the styles Ferree emits on the record as well as a meshing of all the major thematic elements.  It’s a song rooted in largeness, with a booming sonic riff behind a cool Jack White-style delivery.  It’s about the speed and the slow down, the high and lows of drug use and, I imagine, fame.  The last 1:35 is one for the ages, as the distorted guitar fills sing some old school plugged in Neil Young and the stomping riff in the back completely rejects the 50′s bubble gum vibe created in the early tracks.  It’s a shame that “Fear” was the song all of the bloggers got ahold of so early, as it essentially means jack shit to the meat of the record.  As the track blows out your speakers in it’s last seconds, Ferree wails out My painful memory is my alibi.  Won’t somebody play the guitar while I cry, and when he does this, if shivers don’t race down your spine, check your own pulse immediately.  This is a dark, dark track, and points to not only the well-read intelligence of Benjy, but also to how close this guy is to sniffing out greatness.53074

As I’ve covered much of the thematic and trackology here, it’s probably worth mentioning “Iris Flowers,” a minute-long track midway through the album.  It’s a spooky poem recitation from a pleasant sounding little girl with a chipper and matter of fact voice.  The spookiness is from what she says.  Beware is a brand name.  Your ouija boards are not a game. Excess.  Risk-taking.  Dice.  Shortly thereafter our little girlie says, with a smile, “All of the campfires of the world were left by themselves.  So the world is still turning and it burns like hell.”  Ominous and creepy, the poetic diatribe is a breakaway from the flow of the record, but signifies much.  Exactly what would have happened had Driscoll never succumbed to the pressures and temptations of child stardom?  Are fires lit and left untended?  Should someone have steered this poor kid?  Taken care of the fire they started?  I certainly don’t know the answers to these, but by the end of the album, it’s pretty obvious that Benjy has taken a metaphysical and brilliant stab at answering them.

This is an album taut with with rock largeness and stylistic diversity, yet also is an intelligent commentary on pop culture awareness.  We can’t speak enough of this record, and it’s probably time to shut up with our analysis.  I’m going to go ahead and post “Fear” here because that’s what they gave me permission for.  What you must do is purchase the entire record and spin it top to bottom to fully understand it’s complexity and how just plain cool it is.  If someone sits down to this record as a casual listener, they’ll be satisfied on a superficial level, but satisfied nonetheless.  For we non-scarecrows though, Benjy Ferree is asking us to hear him out.  We encourage you to do just that.

www.benjyferree.com

www.dominorecordco.us