Sunny good-times Orlando doesn’t necessarily seem the type of milieu that begets sequestered and supremely haunting lo-fi. But it did, and Emily Reo is decidedly in a league of her own. Simple synths, swells of tape warmth, junky drum machines, a touch of vibraphone, and distorted, melodic, post doo wop vocals certainly evokes Tickley Feather or a totally fucked version of Beach House. However, Reo adopts a more cathedral-tinged approach, demonstrated on “Metal For Your Skin” – a song too expansive for the bedroom. “Tell Us All” features a masterful incorporation of the evasive “circus waltz” that you no longer hear much in skewed pop music. Her full length Minha Gatinha is available now. (Emily Reo on MySpazz)

For fans of:  Tickley Feather, Grouper, Ariel Pink

MP3 :::
Emily Reo – Metal For Your Skin
Emily Reo – Tell Us All

Time again for the obligatory year end list. However, ours is a bit different than others you may have seen. For example, this list is not enumerated. Empirically ranking albums rather trivializes the music, yes? Nor is the list in any particular order, save for the fact that we assembled it based loosely on aesthetics – meaning, we encourage you to mash on the little javascript media player in the bottom left-hand corner and enjoy our best-of picks as a mixtape or an uninterrupted block of music. Not only is this a fine collection of altered states laments, but each and every one of these albums is better than the Grizzly Bear borecore collection. Believe it!

>>>>> FAVORITE ALBUMS OF 2009
The full length jam hives that we found the most innovative, intriguing, enjoyable, or all of the above.

Outside Trish Keenan’s traditional channeling of Margo Guryan and The United States of America and Julian House’s spooky samples, it’s hard to distinguish where Broadcast ends and The Focus Group begins. The collaboration is seamless and ornate, and is a strong addition to the flawless curriculum vitae for both Broadcast and The Focus Group. The Be Colony | Review

Did you know ambient music can be funky? When White Rainbow drops the tablas on his bliss outs, it’s time to hit the floor. All the Boogies in the World [excerpt] | Review

A more optimistic and concise effort, yet still saturated with her signature melted synths, junky keyboards, cough syrup vocals, and general underwater timbre, Hors D’oeuvres finds Tickley Feather as the compromise between Movietone and Ariel Pink. Trashy Boys | Review

Explosive dream pop with a slight electro edge, A Sunny Day in Glasgow burn the best sounds of Flying Saucer Attack and Cocteau Twins together in the same white-washed celestial head stew. Failure

A west coast sludgy summoner of stoner rock, Nothing People’s Late Nite is a less spastic and noisy sophomore effort, straddling the median tremolo-saturated, syrupy acid rock and shoegaze – another definitive post-millennial primer for more ominous trips down the rabbit hole. It’s Not Your Speakers | Review

Songs of Shame is more extroverted and less antiquated than 08’s At Rear House, and is pushed out of the womb with such fervor that I can finally get behind the strained falsetto, Elliott Smith experiencing zipper-trouble vocals. Gypsy Hand | Review

More and more artists are paying homage to Thoreau lately and recording their music in the midst of a hermetic retreat. Many return with nothing more than a bruised ego and a full beard. Damon McMahon returned with Dia after his pilgrimage in 2006 to the Catskill Mountains. Both insular and cavernous, this debut LP is an uninhibited trek through McMahon’s psychedelic mindscapes. Patagonian Domes | Review

The aural equivalent of an Ektachrome dusk, Lockett Pundt proves himself as Deerhunter’s understated force and the the undeniable ying to Bradford Cox’s yang, pinpointing exactly where and how the band gets its balmy, sedated atmosphere. A gorgeous second-wave shoegaze statement. A Threaded Needle | Review

Reverberated fuzzy guitars, punchy rhythm, a shoegaze aesthetic, totally damaging heaviness, and a touch of retro chic on acid – Chicago’s Disappears are everything that’s great about rock and roll. They lit a fire under my ass so severe that I still keep the Solarcaine stocked. Hearing Things | Review

Phantom Family Halo’s sprawling 2LP post-apocalyptic lament is evil and would make you think Louisville is a scary place or something. While the entire body of work can be classified as psych garage rock or acid rock, the record’s all over the place within the parameters of brain melting. A bit of Boards of Canada style ambient explorations here, a bit of krautrock motorik rhythms by way of Faust there… and then insanely reverberated crunchy guitars ascend from the primordial ooze scary enough to make Fever Ray poo her trou. These dudes are sonic warriors. Child of Light | Review

Phased surf guitar working and a dejected tropical attitude operate in tandem with autumnal acoustic overtones and gossamer melodies to produce something along the lines of a slacker Yo La Tengo. Fake Blues | Review

City Center was probably recorded underwater. I’m not sure how Fred Thomas did this without shorting out his gear, but this record’s precise aquatic timbre and dark reverb could’ve only been achieved submerged. Another gold star for the sampsycore camp. Bleed Blood | Review

Ever since Scratch Perry lost his goddamn mind, we’ve needed someone to don the dub crown. We nominate Sun Araw. The Message | Review

New Zealander Annabelle Alpers’ debut for Drag City, and second proper album, has been described by a couple of writers as a sort of quirky “bedroom pop.” I wholeheartedly disagree. My Electric Family is expansive, radical, and ionospheric. Packed with reverb, sweeping moods, and surrealistic lyrical motifs, Bachelorette is way too large for any bedroom. It also has a hypnotic quality so acute and permeating that we can safely say that Alpers has invented “cult pop.” The National Grid | Review

The Columbus total damage trio makes Robert Pollard look like Phil Spector. Punk as fuck. And underneath all the shit – great pop songs. Hustler, Psycho, Son

If there’s anyone that can remove the fashion-conscious aspect of noise-pop that creates filler and polarizes bands like Wavves, it would probably be a bunch of kids in their basement playing to no audience. Recently championed by Psychedelic Horseshit as “the greatest band in the country,” Fungi Girls are these kids, and they’re surprisingly more nihilistic and creeping than most of the recent shitgaze bands who paved the way for them. Crystal Roads | Review

True-to-cannon heavy shoegaze with a cavernous and dramatic eastern flair, all focused through the ominous looking-glass of their native Detroit. Tiger Fighter | Review

Gentle fingerpicking, bright tonal sprays of analog synths, and an impeccable ear for vocal melody holds every song on Childish Prodigy. A disciple of both Neil Young and R. Stevie Moore, Vile’s amalgamation of influences is arresting in both its musical scope and bravado. All the while, Vile’s signature, a bourbon-soaked Avey Tare croon with a shot of impenetrable confidence, steers and unites this eclectic, cohesive work. Inside Lookin’ Out | Review

While the Bolt hasn’t exactly gone verse-chorus-verse on us just yet, the newfound tightness Earthly Delights is much more structured and, at times, almost hummable compositions. That is not to say that LB has lost any edge, but simply that Earthly Delights throws a little Occam’s Razor into the mix. The group’s opting to keep their disposition a bit simpler and less freeform. Transmissionary | Review

Dream folk like “Criminals” makes Logos a good album. Epic motorik anthems mixed in, a la Cox’s collaboration with Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier on “Quick Canal,” make Logos a great album. Quick Canal | Review

While the subterranean groove and minor key construction evoke a more haunting, nighttime-appropriate flavor, there’s also a visceral optimism that runs underneath the LP like groundwater. Perhaps it’s the playfulness between genres and moods, or the freewheeling construction of the songs… or perhaps not all noise/freak psych kids like to make nihilistic records. Not to be confused with The Nuge. Two Hands | Review

While some of her recent work has adopted a more intimate and traditional folk approach, A Ways Away is lush, weird, and engrossing. Psych folk is the closest reference point, yet TJO is also entirely something else. In a way, A Ways Away is a return to form and a maturation. The crafty utilization of space and syrupy slow tempo is reminiscent of the Louisville scene in which she came, while at the same time, TJO is fully owning her sound. The result is a beautiful and accessible work that relishes in desolate sounds and bucolic late night wandering. Beast, Go Along | Review

Strongest effort from this definitive freak folk collective since Cathedral, and certainly the most ominous of his career and a textbook example of brilliant use of sonic space. Sometimes it’s the notes you don’t play. On Beginning

Scary-ass Bjork releases a spacious and minimal analog electronic creeper that’s better than The Knife, and comes equipped with the best/funniest lyrics penned in quite some time. Still can’t listen to this shit at night without getting all paranoid in my head tech. When I Grow Up

Closer in spirit to experimental figures of yesterday like Moondog and Bernard Herrmann than current artists, Marc Richter seems dead set on completely disorienting our frame of reference. Richter does manage to arrive at moments of extremely cinematic avant-garde music that’s unlike much we’ve ever heard before. Rauschen | Review

Even in an increasingly noise-tolerant music culture, this is an adventurous listen, and that alone should have your earbuds watering by now. Auto Dimmer | Review

Ducktails masterfully crafted an album with a lulled but not quite hypnotizing quality, similar to the nature documentary sound that Boards of Canada achieve, with occasional lo-fi tape tinkering like on “Backyard,” with its phased bucket-toms and Robert Fripp inspired distortion shifting. Beautiful. Dancing With the One You Love | Review

Bird-Brains is completely demented and angular, kinda like Xiu Xiu, but without treading the blurry line between “artistic vision” and “sonic bullshit” that Mr. Stewart always straddled firmly. Everything from dub to yoddeling finds itself on what I’d guess you could call a kitchen sink freak folk album. Whatever it is, this shit is gospel. Fiya | Review

We’re very pleased to hear that, seemingly, the band is taking acid again. Worm Mountain

Mind altering modulating jungle boogie bogged down on purple drank and tribal bangin’ replete with sinister ragas and general skulduggery, Mirror Eye is one of the more pleasantly evil releases reared in ‘09. Eyes Closed | Review

Dragon Turtle’s debut, Almanac, is an expansive 45-minute trek that explores an alternating fear and awe of the natural world, and everything in between. They didn’t pack lightly either, hoarding a curious mix of folk, kraut rock, post rock, and small touches of calypso. Belt of Venus | Review

The massive arsenal of antique analog equipment that defined BMSR’s first three albums remains in tact – the vocoder-saturated vocals of Tobacco, the thick and swirling novatrons and mellotrons that cultivated a general feeling of sunshine and old 8mm films about nature, etc. However, Eating Us showcases a more organic band, incorporating more acoustic instrumentation and mellow moods without disregarding the group’s traditional glitchy, Technicolor timbre. Iron Lemonade | Review

The original keyboardist from Broadcast peaks out from his lair to release another fantastic testament for Ghost Box who, like Motown and Creation, created a whole new aesthetic in music. Roj has distinguished himself as the tinty, rhythmic, retro-futuristic sci fi voice in hauntology. What I Saw

Super positive rural psychedelia best experienced with peace pipe in hand and vision quest in front. Made from warm tape excursions from them to you. Feels good to vibe this hard. All the Good Songs Have Been Written

The girls’ new album Fraushaus! has one foot in the shit-gaze movement and another recalling the gleaming-amateur looseness of the Shaggs, complimented by unexpected touches of found sounds and flea-market synths. Round Vox | Review

>>>>> FAVORITE EPs OF 2009
Though no longer than 20 minutes a piece, these nuggets of joy deserve some mention

There are certain sounds synonymous with the Summer of Love, but what about the winter that followed? Bronx trio Pigeons have a decent guess in mind. Their account of classic psychedelia is a much colder affair than most’. Stringing together a bizarrely addictive mix of paranoia, mystery, and seduction, their new tape-splintered 7? Lunettes is something I could only describe as psych-noir. Tendress | Review

No Age demonstrates here, moreso than Nouns, a mastering of their craft in profound ways. They’re no longer trying to capture the sound of My Bloody Valentine’s early EPs. They’re becoming completely their own thing – dream punk. Losing Feeling

The Philly subterranean brooding fuzz plus flute collective does no wrong, and their contribution to the Three Lobed subscription series is no exception. Do you know what a Bardo Pond is? Me neither, but it’s probably where God kills Republicans. The Path

We could tell the girls of Pocahaunted were getting antsy when they started injecting dub and dance hall elements into their trademark campfire drone sessions on last year’s Island Diamonds. To remedy this, they’ve teamed up with members of Sun Araw, Robedoor, Magic Lantern, and Fantastic Ego to ditch the delay pedals in favor of some wah-wah. Honeycomb | Review

Sloppy yet lush psychedelic punk that hits hard. Consider Atlanta’s The N.E.C. the southern response to No Age. Old Medicine

Lush arrangements, non-grating noise walls, and oceanic melodies, Banjo or Freakout is the tech-savvy, post-millennial incarnation of Slowdive. Looking forward for the full-length! Like You

Super retro, super cinematic crunchy garage stomp with interstellar overtones, dramatic turns, and harshed mellows. Blood on the Sand is exactly what is sounds like – beach times gone wrong, Weekend at Bernies style. Blood on the Sand

Ovals & Emeralds is full of disorienting growths of sublime field recordings, toy-chest noises, and coarse synths. Bibio’s signature creekside guitar is barely present, but here he has crafted his ambient work to equal perfection. The sun goes down on his usual idyllic pastoralism to bring out a bleaker landscape with a slightly menacing air to it like the meditations of Wolfgang Voigt. Carosello Ellitico | Review

Not to be cliche, but no other piece of music partied like it was 1879 harder than the vinyl-only issue Among the Gold. Silver Threads | Review

No, The Books didn’t take the bad pills. Lucky Dragons are the jovian trance music of the century after next. With woodwinds. Power Melody

>>>>> FAVORITE REISSUES/COMPILATIONS OF ‘09
Our ten favorite that needed to be heard again

Everything you all do is amazing. Great job! Keep ‘em coming. Fans of weird field recordings and anthropologists owe you a big batch of homemade cookies at the very least. Night Recordings From Bali – Peliatan Night Walk

Honest Jon’s compilation of 1920s Iraqi recordings is truly a gem, but it’s not for everyone. It isn’t the type of “world music” employed for NPR bumper music or in the living rooms of people who like to feel “cultured.” Documenting very otherworldly dance and, for lack of a better word, Middle Eastern blues music, these recordings were remastered from some of the earliest 78s ever pressed. This disc features ardent vocal performances over violin, hand percussion, an occasional lute, and not much else, relying more on raw performances that, at times, resemble a prophetic view of west coast folk and free jazz. Badria Anwar – Lega Taresh Habibi

While their timeline coincides with New York’s no wave movement, their Deutsche no wave is something else entirely. Amalgamating the dadaist cool and nervous energy of Suicide, their homeland’s motorik rhythm, the loud and detuned psychedelics of Spacemen 3 (whom 39 Clocks actually predate), the organ-as-diving-rod experimental pop ethos of Silver Apples, and a Nuggets-ready proto-punk punch, the mensch of 39 Clocks chew up kraut and psychedelic subsets and spit them out into a ball of drug-riddled prophecy and rock and roll shenanigans. Dom Electricity Elects the Rain | Review

A lot of people complain about Kraftwerk, saying “oh, I can do that.” Yeah, well, they did it first, and you didn’t. Everything between Autobahn and The Man Machine rules hard and sounds beautiful, so shut the fuck up. It’s worth mentioning, and perhaps is a bit ironic, that the sound of Kraftwerk is slightly more powerful with the analog recordings, if for no other reason than to provide a timeframe. How ’bout that? Regardless, it’s nice to have all their best work in one place and sounding awesome. Antenna

The landmark 1972 record that should’ve included them in the same sentence as Faust, Can, and Neu, but for some reason didn’t. Perhaps it was because they sounded too much like Blue Cheer? Either way, Kanguru’s reverence is long overdue. Oxymoron

You put Boards of Canada, Aphex Twin, and Broadcast on the same release, and it’ll end up on a best-of somewhere on this blog. Like the Movern Collar soundtrack, but without the shitty movie that accompanies it. Boards of Canada – Amo Bishop Rodan

Believe it or not, Califone was Tim Rutili’s calmer project compared with Red Red Meat’s shit-blues zenith Bunny Gets Paid. Rosewood, Stax, Volts, and Glitt

This band was awesome. You can talk about how rad [insert hawt buzzband here] is until you’re blue in the face. But guess the fuck what. The Beatles did it first. Thanks for playing. While the only difference I can tell between the Remasters and the original is the volume, MagiMystour always gets royal treatment on this blog. Flying

The Vaselines were one mighty contradiction – a massive sound crafted by only two people, double entendre lyrics sung with coyness, gritty production and sloppy instrumentation coupled with truly soaring, gorgeous melodies – this duo was a real gem. Lovecraft | Review

A combination of bad timing, arguments with the label over the band’s presentation (namely, well, their name), and a generally ill-prepared state of music allowed this missing-link of punk rock to fall through the cracks until Drag City intervened this year. A remarkably well-aged time capsule of hefty hooks and driving power, For the Whole World to See is a blistering proto-punk artifact. You’re a Prisoner | Review

Who could have ever imagined that three of the most buzzed about bands of the year – Ducktails, Washed Out, and Neon Indian – would sound like Ariel Pink? Pink, who has been a critical lightning rod ever since the release of his first official album, The Doldrums, on Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks label, was surely never any blogger’s idea of the “next big thing.” While his music shares the boombox fidelity and classical pop song craft of the now universally adored Daniel Johnston, it also often has a dry, ironic edge to it, thus making it impossible to project any ideas of childlike innocence onto it. Pink always seems determined to push things too far, often derailing perfectly written pop songs into a pileup of overdriven synths, random vocals noises, and drums playing off beat.

It’s this streak of  self-sabotage (or defiant genius, depending on who you ask) that has become the most contentious thing about Pink’s music, because the other things – the fetishization of 70s and 80s soft rock, the “cheesy” synths, the 8 track cassette recording fidelity – have suddenly become cool. Whether it’s the revival of Balearic dance music or the still lingering effects of Daft Punk’s Discovery or just the simple truth that lo-fi music full of synthesizers has never been cheaper or easier to make, the fact is that things long considered impossibly cheesy, like gated drums and “Euro” and “Trance” keyboard presets and keybasses, are now everywhere. So much of the critical discourse about Pink’s music, especially the idea that his music was a parody of the “shallow” and “self-absorbed” popular music of the 70s and 80s, doesn’t seem relevant anymore, because we’ve all stopped equating “overproduction” and synthesizers with inauthenticity. Whereas before Pink’s music was saddled with both an unpopular sound and a prickly, experimental attitude, now it’s just the latter.

Neon Indian, the Pitchfork-certified one man project of Austin, Texas’ Alan Palomo, sounds like Ariel Pink’s synth pop songs (see: Scared Famous’ “The Kitchen Club” or House Arrest’s “Flying Circles”) scrubbed mostly clean and with a more obvious “music for hip stoners” vibe. “Deadbeat Summer, ” “Terminally Chill,” and “Should Have Taken Acid With You” could all be Pink songs, except that his versions would be angrier and weirder. Palomo’s music views the 1980s as a memory playground for stoners, where old keyboard sounds trigger instant reveries, whereas Pink’s music sounds more like bad memories that can’t escape their milieu, sort of like how so many of my worst memories would be soundtracked by Rancid or NOFX because that’s what I was listening to around the time they happened.

Just like Neon Indian, Washed Out jack Pink’s synth pop steez (listen to the chorus of Scared Famous’ “Gopacapulco” and tell me that’s not a Washed Out song in the making), but instead of couching the sound in a druggy, easygoing nostalgia, Ernest Greene (the man behind Washed Out) has created the 2009 equivalent of yacht rock. The video to “Feel It All Around” is seriously just some twentysomethings with tattoos snorkeling, going down waterslides, taking cellphone pictures of each other, and eating in fancy, neon-lit restaurants. The fact that music once made exclusively by bedroom weirdos can now soundtrack a tropical vacation speaks volumes about how music and aesthetics have changed since 2004.

Matt Mondanile’s Ducktails – my personal favorite of the three – basically sounds like instrumental versions of Ariel Pink songs. From the cheap sounding drum machines to the hazy, 8 track tape production to the often brittle guitar sound, Pink’s and Mondanile’s aesthetics are almost identical, though once again Pink has never seemed interested in the kind of full-on blissout you’ll find on a Ducktails album.

It’s clear that Ariel Pink has had a far larger impact on indie rock than anyone could have ever imagined. But Pink’s statement around the release of this year’s “Can’t Hear My Eyes/Evolution’s a Lie” 7″ that “Everything you think you know [about his old music] is WRONG- DEAD WRONG. THIS is me, naked, without the buffer of awful tape noise drowning out any lack of vision..” and his recent signing to 4AD raise some interesting questions. Is Ariel Pink without the “awful tape noise” and campy falsetto and 8 track tapes really even Ariel Pink? Perhaps he’s seen so many artists gain success sounding like him that he’s tired of just being a cult hero, or maybe he wants to prove he’s a “good” musician. As excited as I am to see these questions answered, I’m also a little worried that all those things that made Pink such a distinctive artist are soon going to disappear.

POSSIBLY RELEVANT :::
Ariel Pink and Vivian Girls – Lexington, 4.6.09

MP3 :::
Ariel Pink – The Kitchen Club
Ariel Pink – Immune to Emotion
Ariel Pink – Helen
Ariel Pink – Flying Circles
Ducktails – Backyard

There’s a method to the madness, I tell ya. The blog ran a contest a couple of weeks ago, asking our readers what they’d like to see more of. A sort of suggestion box or comment card. A common theme was “shorter reviews.” Alright then, I’ll try to keep the brevity rocking hard on this one.

In a nutshell, Tune Yards (which is officially denoted as tUnE-yArDs, but since typing toggle case is kind of an ass pain, I’ll stay with MLA style) is one of the most schizophrenic and beautiful records to grace these ears this year. Bird-Brains is completely demented and angular, kinda like Xiu Xiu, but without treading the blurry line between “artistic vision” and “just fuckin’ around” that Mr. Stewart always straddled firmly. Perhaps a better description might be To Live And Shave in LA meets expressive female vocals and a folk-centric headspace. Bird-Brains, on the surface, is mostly constructed from spanish guitar, drum machines, found sounds, broken samples, and a sort of totally fucked, anything-goes “playfulness with artistic purpose” that almost evokes the ethos (though not necessarily the sound) of Captain Beefheart and Sun City Girls. And with this pallette, Tune-Yards explores the vast strata of freak folk, druggy pop, and musique concrete. As a taste, “Lions” almost resembles a sea chanty, “Sunlight” is a sort of brooding acid pop, “News” is a sunny kitchen sink sing-along with panged lyrics and general vibe of “just dropped off a song to the studio on the way to the store,” “Fiya” is a perfect stab at early psych folk, “Jamaican” builds a barely danceable beat around a recording of what I believe to be a child’s cough and a drill, and “Real Live Flesh” is sorta dubby. And that’s less than half the album represented. Oh yeah, almost forgot… there’s yodeling to be found on “Hatari.” Wowzers. So to that end, I love this record. Anything that’s challenging for me to describe always gets two thumps up and repeated listens on the ghetto blaster. I have no idea what’s happening half the time, and that keeps the intrigue level strong.

This statement might sound snobby, but whatever, it’s gotta be said. A lot of people are going to say they like the Tune-Yards album because it’s picking up a little buzz and it’s considered, ya know, arty. And these people will be goddamn liars. This album is as difficult as a Throbbing Gristle record. It just happens to have hooks and deceivingly positive vibes.

So don’t go into this listening experience expecting Dirty Projectors or Grizzly Barrrrr or whatever the fuck. Tune Yards are next level. You’ve been warned.

Anyway, Kenny Bloggins thinks 4AD should give all its St. Vincent budget to Tune-Yards to keep writing, recording, and touring. This shit is gospel. And it’s available this week, so go see about it.

For fans of:  Tickley Feather, Xiu Xiu, Holy Modal Rounders with beats

MP3 :::
Tune-Yards – Sunlight
Tune-Yards – News

Sometimes I’ll gladly risk wasting half an hour on a band I’ve never heard of if the name catches me. Such is the case with how I got into the music of Bobby Aherne, a.k.a some Irish guy who makes music as Dublin Duck Dispensary. I can’t tell you what that means, but I assure you that the tunes don’t suffer from the same gap in translation.

At it’s core, DDD is in the business of outsider tape-folk similar to acts like Pumice, but no two releases sound terribly alike. Earlier this year, Bobby released the Ykes Basket EP for free on the internet label Rack & Ruin records. Unaware of the lo-fi obsession smoldering over in the US, he busted out manic sprints of fried pop tunes from his bedroom. The crunchy riffs were supplemented by kitsch decorations of bells, whistles, and some homespun tales of Dadaist situations.

Then he did something expected; he turned it down a notch. Retreating to the coastline, Bobby pinned ten stripped tracks that would become the two sides of his most recent cassette Antique Beach Resort. Trading his electric guitar for a rusty acoustic, these new songs embrace the full-body strumming style of Jeff Mangum and his damp, campfire psychedelia. The vocals, a droll combination of snotty and naive, extract everything from catharsis to celebration. “It’s the same key to the palace as the morgue,” he sings on side b as the melody is overtaken by possessed claps and howls. This tape is a fascinating polaroid of his time spent seaside, and worth saving from obscurity.

Antique Beach Resort is available now on Rack & Ruin records website.

For Fans Of: Pumice, Jeff Mangum, Ganglians

MP3 :::
Dublin Duck Dispensary – Zoo on Yr Back
Dublin Duck Dispensary – The Jester

I enjoyed the new Tickley Feather record the first time I sat down to listen to it on Wednesday. Then yesterday I had a nasty 24-hour flu bug (or a 24-hour H1N1 – I’m uninsured, so I didn’t have it professionally diagnosed) and got rowdy on the Nyquil and Dayquil at the same time. I was thoroughly fucked. It was at that point that the new Tickley Feather jam hive sounded real good. I tried to type out my review for the album in this state, but all that came out was thoughts like “fickley teather’s bringing the happy face grind out ya doppler radar outta control” and “annie sachs lol, reminds me of, like, ’sacks’ as in ‘i want to carry around sacks so if someone ask for a hand i can be like – no dice, got these sacks’ jack handey to the max”(true story). Better wait until I’m 100% to write this, which I’m doing right now.

So… the fuck was I talking about? Oh yes, we were discussing adorable lil’ Annie Sachs, a.k.a. Tickley Feather a.k.a. Animal Collective’s BFF 4 Life. The Feather recently described her forthcoming Hors D’oeuvres as an attempt to embrace her “Southern Gothic meets Existential Hillbilly vibe,” promising a more bucolic, joyful, accessible effort. Bucolic? Yes, and you can hear the optimism embedded within from her recent move back to her homestead of rural Virginia. But accessible? Fear not, Tickley Feather is still weird as all hell and delightfully psychotic and looking glass-esque. Different this time around, as previously alluded, is the very concise, focused songwriting. The album’s production still sounds like it was recorded underwater (as it should), but the melodies and compositions are so good. Perhaps Hors D’oeuvres will go quadruple platinum. I fucking hope so.

Tickley’s signature drum machine, melted keys, and allegiance to four-track recording still remain in the forefront as she experiments with many genres, intrepreted slight askew of course. “Sure Relaxing” combines aquatic vocals and wah-pedal to evoke a sexy, LSD-lens Cocteau Twins. “Club Rhythm 96 and Cell Phone” brings you nasty dance funk electroclash as recorded by and for the Morlocks. “Buzzy” takes a page out of Ariel Pink’s instrumental jam book, using minimal loops and altering their fidelity to change the mood and timbre of the song throughout a la William Basinki (and a gorgeous one it is). “Don’t Call, Marilyn” amalgamates a ’60s doo wop sensibility with a sort of paranoia-inducing carnival beat and remains a big highlight.

However, where Tickley really hits her stride is on “Trashy Boys” and “Roses of Romance.” Tickley has a serious sense of soaring melody that was only hinted at on earlier work like “Natural.” Despite the wash of hazy effects and otherwordly disposition, there’s a quiet intimacy a la Movietone through the songs’ resplendent warmth that’s quite refreshing in the freak folk realm (though called Tickley “freak folk” is a bit of a disservice to her rather ingenious music). Truly gorgeous stuff.

Hors D’oeuveres holds up as I listen to it now with a sober mind, and was totally fuckin’ awesome on cough meds. Without sounding cliched, it is truly a syrupy trip into strange candy-coated lands, like entering the “Dark World” in Zelda Link to the Past. Highly recommended for all ocassions, and I reckon that it will end up on the best-of list for the year.

Hors D’oeuvres will burrow a hole in your dome when it drops October 20 coutesy of Paw Tracks. The image at the top is not the cover of the new album, by the way. High-res artwork has yet to be released for it.

Fagen-Becker Quality Rating

For fans of:  Ariel Pink, Bachelorette, Broadcast, Movietone

MP3 :::
Tickley Feather – Roses of Romance
Tickley Feather – Trashy Boys

Like BCE and CE, there are two distinct timelines for discussing Animal Collective. For the sake of shorthand, I will herein refer to these periods as the BF epoch (before Feels) and the AF (after Feels), with Feels being the Christ period. While the AF epoch emphasized vocal harmonies and booty bass (not to mention zealous internet hype, which was not necessarily undeserved), BF was brilliant, disjointed freak folk. If you miss that sound, Niao might help you out with their latest bucolic experimental jaunt Clenched Fist.

I had a feeling I would really enjoy this EP, considering the cover featured a sweet UFO and the press release was pointed, straightforward, and devoid of hyperbolic hype. It literally read “pentatonic blues runs on the keyboard, hypnotic rhythms and melodies accompanied by toms… no words, only drones and simple syllables like ‘ey ah oo wah’.” Well, alright, count me in.

The trio does indeed deliver the goods – sparse arrangements, thick tribal dissonance, and a sinister vibe. These are campfire songs for the possibly possessed. Great stuff. Czech out Sailing Records for more info and to grip Clenched Fist.

For fans of:  Blues Control, early Animal Collective, Black Dice

MP3 :::
Niao – Untitled Six

Ahoy, the holiest of holies there – the Boss SP-303 sampler. So you kinda know what’s comin’…

There’s been a cheeky debate going on with the serious (I Guess I’m Floating) and not so serious (Hipster Runoff) blogs about what to call the burst of sample-based, lightly acid-tinged pop music that exploded with Panda Bear’s Person Pitch and continues with strong work from Lotus Plaza, City Center, et al. I like sampsycore. It’s sort of German in its mindset – make a new word out of three existing ones. So I’ll throw that in the ring. Chillbrocore is good too, though. Anyway, I’m glad Nathaniel at the aforementioned IGIF introduced me to psychedelic pop bro Happy Family, because his new Sound Farm EP helps keep the brain limber.

Happy Family exudes a thick, hazy, classic 4AD vibe by way of Cocteau Twins, with fuuuuunk. That is to say, Happy Family’s songwriting tendencies and general sonic timbre fall somewhere between dub and freak folk, which are two rather disperate genres. Hombre pulls it off well.  In addition, the one-man Baltimore-based project also concocts a well-balanced blend of shoegaze, kraut, and 8mm-washed swells of ambience.  I tend not to like music with heavy, pervasive beats, but Happy Family’s scratchy, syrupy rhythm section is decidedly distinct and unusual, is somewhat reminiscent of Koushik’s or Forest Swords’ fine astral trips. Recommended.

Happy Family is all up on MySpazz.

For fans of:  City Center, Cocteau Twins, Forest Swords, Koushik

MP3 :::
Happy Family – Mindless Pleasures

I thought summer seemed a little dry for awesome shows, and it turns out that the big guns are coming out in the fall. From the people that brought you Sir Richard Bishop at the Swan Dive in June comes otherworldly mountain psych folk prophet Jack Rose. Mixing a slice of Americana with a slice of the Martian, Jack Rose concocts a swampy, breathy instrumental folk that is both comforting and challenging. No word on support yet, but you can bet that some of Louisville’s best will be vying for an opening slot for this visionary performer.

Jack Rose with TBA
Monday, September 28
All ages, 21+ to drink
Skull Alley – Louisville (map that shizz)
Doors and ticket price forthcoming

MP3 :::
Jack Rose – Revolt

There’s something about Louisville that produces adventurous female songwriters who completely eschew traditional (i.e. bland) folk leanings for massive, beautiful soundscapes and experimental song structures. Perhaps it’s the high grade weed that passes through here, who knows. Last week, you were introduced to the graceful Cheyenne Mize, who collaborated with Will Oldham on his Among the Gold EP.  I suppose you could classify her and other similar artists as part of the New Weird America camp.  But Tara Jane O’Neil, who recently relocated to Portland, is not new and not easy to pinpoint. She’s a longstanding freak folk luminary whose resume stretches far and wide, and she would stomp Joanna Newsome’s annoying ass and beat her with her own harp without a second thought.

A quick history lesson for the uninitiated. At 20, TJO tamed the low end in the legendary Louisville math rock collective Rodan, and played on their one and only album Rusty. After Rodan’s deterioration, she drfited between the likes of Ida, Mirah, Naysayer, Retsin, Jackie O Motherfucker, and good ol’ Dave Pajo as Papa M. Rodan enthusiasts will hate me for saying such, but her solo work, in my opinion, has left the most shattering impression. And the forthcoming A Ways Away is one of her best. It’s a scorcher.

While some of her recent work has adopted a more intimate and traditional folk approach in the vein of latter Fairport Convention or Townes Van Zandt, A Ways Away is lush, weird, and engrossing. Psych folk is the closest reference point, as the spinning textures and ambient flourishes are reminiscent of some of The Incredible String Band’s best stuff.  Yet, TJO is also entirely something else.

In a way, A Ways Away is a return to form and a maturation. The crafty utilization of space and syrupy slow tempo is reminiscent of early Low and, of course, Rodan and her first effort Peregrine. At the same time, TJO is fully owning her sound – writing concise songs while letting the drones and riffs wander in myriad directions. The result is a beautiful and accessible work that relishes in desolate sounds and bucolic late night wandering.  If you were intrigued by Grouper’s Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill last year, A Ways Away will floor you. Respect to Grouper, of course, but TJO was doin’ this thing first and, as such, deserving of your attention.

It’s important to note that you should stay very, very far away from alcohol whilst enjoying A Ways Away. It’s extremely somber and sorta creepy, notwithstanding that it’s absolutely gorgeous as well. Which reminds me, one of my best friends’ older brother had the pleasure of getting wasted with Tara at a Stereolab show in Louisville in 2002. I can’t even piece this scenario together. Stereolab played at one of the douchiest bars in town, Phoenix Hill Tavern (imagine “Parsec” amongst a sea of popped collars, ya know?). And here’s Sam, a total good times dude, taking whiskey shots with the distant TJO. I’ll have to ask him what they talked about next time I see him.

Ah, I follow tangents as they come, where was I?  Oh yes, back to how and why A Ways Away rules. The tonality TJO employs on her clean electric guitar, with huge atmospheric reverberation added to great effect, is remarkable to listen to, and perfect for driving west during the storm. “Pearl Into Sand” is a beastly, rowdy drone instrumental that just handed my ass to me. This leads into the equally beastly “Beast, Go Along.” As beautiful as it is haunting, “Beast, Go Along” is the best representation of A Ways Away as a whole. Morricone-style riffs drift in and out, while light touches of steel guitar adds a slight cosmic American music slant – all of which ride delicately over thick, warm drones. It’s a delicious dirge that you can expect on my best of ‘09 list.  While firmly cemented within the parameters of atmospheric folk, TJO’s A Ways Away reveals many facets that only get better with each listen.

Fagen-Becker Quality Rating

A Ways Away is her first album on K Records, and is out May 5 (along with every other record I’ve covered recently – that’s a huge day).

For fans of: Grouper, Linda Perhacs, Belong

MP3 :::
Tara Jane O’Neil – Pearl Into Sand
Tara Jane O’Neil – Beast, Go Along
Tara Jane O’Neil – Dig In