Tea Tornado marks the reclusive Marmoset’s second effort since parting ways with Secretly Canadian, and first since the passing of member LonPaul Ellrich. Perhaps these tertiary factors have contributed to a different sounding Marmoset, one that has a newfound obsession with pastries (three songs are titled after items you’d find in a bakery). Or perhaps Tea Tornado is the result of a band simply trying new things. On the surface, Tea Tornado is absolutely still Marmoset – the deadpan, sarcastic, haunting vocals of Jorma Whittaker, their trademark utilization of sonic space, and the concise Syd Barrett meets Robert Pollard song structures (with a touch of Skip Spence’s creepiness).

With that said, there’s still something decidedly different about the cadence of Tea Tornado. The record is not as spooky or enigmatic as Record In Red, or spastic and sludgey like Today, It’s You. Rather, Tea Tornado comes off as an electric folk record, at least at first glance. The songs, tightly wound, play more minimal and straightforward, stay uptempo, and feature more clear instrumentation by way of more acoustic guitar, cleaner distortion, and a brighter mix.  Has Marmoset lightened up? Not exactly, but the smokiness has cleared a bit to reveal a more comfortable, onward looking Marmoset – yet one that still lurks in the shadows when necessary. Perhaps like the actual animal might.

Outside the slightly downtuned acoustic guitar and bummed lyrics on opener “Written Today,” the record opens with a sunshine folk timbre. Acid torch song “Empty Room” toys with ’60s pop and doo wop guitar. “Hallway” features upbeat Hammondesque organ and ruminations on childhood (“race you down the hallway”). Good vibes seem to abound on Tea Tornado. Yet, in these instances and others, Marmoset’s genre and mood hopping is extremely subtle. Every turn on Tea Tornado, as with all Marmoset releases, is covered with Jorma and company’s thick varnish. It’s always been difficult for me to ascertain exactly why I love Marmoset so much, and perhaps their distinction plays a large part.

However, when I said that “good vibes seem to abound on Tea Tornado,” seem is the operative word. Not all is rainbows and gumdrops with Marmoset, and if it was, our paradigm of reality would collapse upon itself. “Strawberry Shortcake” dabbles in serious low end and reverb – an almost hallucinogenic murder ballad with Morricone-style guitar to boot. When Whitakker asks you to “come with me/this is our last chance” on “Come With Me,” a song that began with “you can’t understand my evil/it hides in the depths of my grey matter” you can infer that this is not a Capulet-Montague love song. The fiercely downstrummed and stoned “He’s Been Napping” is downright demented and delightful. “You, Blueberry Muffin” acts as a snapshot of psychosis.

Yes, Marmoset is still keeping things sinister despite the injection of anti-depressants found on portions of Tea Tornado. And that may be the best part – there’s a juxtaposition in mood without a drastic change in sound. The group’s haunting facets do not hit you until later, as an afterthought or a latter reflection.

While Tea Tornado might not exist on the same plane as Record In Red (which would be difficult to do anyway, as Record In Red is a fucking classic), it’s Marmoset and it’s rad. Tea Tornado is a kaleidoscopic exercise, a great sounding record, and, perhaps most importantly, a deceivingly heavy body of songs. It’s a real creeper and worthy of your gray matter.

Marmoset’s Tea Tornado was just released by Joyful Noise and is available here.

For fans of:  Alexander Skip Spence, early Velvet Underground, Syd Barrett, Psychedelic Horseshit

Fagen-Becker Quality Rating

POSSIBLY RELATED :::
The Decibel Tolls presents… MARMOSET with INVADERS and THE HARLEQUINS

MP3 :::
Marmoset – You, Blueberry Muffin
Marmoset – Empty Room

It’s worth noting immediately that the Round Robin Tour – Deerhunter, No Age, and Dan Deacon performing “in the round,” as it’s called – was one of the best times I’ve had at a show in recent memory. The show was intense yet lighthearted, and loud as hell throughout. The music, in all aspects, was simply impeccable. Case in point: I walked into the show more or less liking No Age and Dan Deacon, but not really feeling either way about them. As far as I was concerned, I was there for Deerhunter and that’s that. However, with solid, incredible performances by every act, my attitude was altered about 15 minutes into the show.

Of course, the comfortable nature of Newport’s historic Southgate House, with its balcony seating, cheap drinks, good air circulation, and general professional level of production played no small part in this as well. There were four opening acts for the headlining threesome (zomg! unintentional pr0nz). So, by my arithmetic, seven different artists played – all of whom had varying instrumentation that was probably challenging to mic and mix. Yet there was absolutely no change-over time. You were treated to music non-stop from 8 p.m. doors to 1 a.m. curfew. Tickets for this show were $10. That’s value you don’t get much too often in these economic times. So bravo to Southgate House for keeping the tickets low and the music rolling without a hitch. I love this venue.

The first act was already performing on the ballroom floor by the time we made it in (the line slithered all the way up to York Street). It was a mostly-female noise group whose name I did not catch, and were not terribly remarkable anyway. But I hadn’t had a highball in me yet, so maybe I was just being Grouchy Jones.

White Rainbow played next, and he was the best of the four openers. A menacing one-man sound machine, White Rainbow plays it just like I like it – simple drones building up to loud washes of gentle oscillations. Then he rips a funky guitar line, loops it, and builds a technicolor wall of sound. It was very reminiscent of Growing, whom I oft spring chub for. I wish his set was longer than the alloted 15 or 20 minutes he played. He’s got a new club banger coming out on Kranky in October called New Clouds. No doubt that shit will be tight.

The crowd was really into one-man act Ed Schrader. I still can’t figure out how I feel about him. I guess that’s challenging performance art in practice? And if that’s the case, does that mean he’s “good” or “artistically relevant” (cue Hipster Runoff)? Dressed in his Heavens Gate best (all white), Schrader banged on a tom and throatily sang surreal lyrics in rockabilly fashion. And that was it – drum, voice, and inter-song banter and antics. I felt like I had a confundus charm cast upon me during the jam. I dunno, maybe it was cool. I went and grabbed a cocktail in the middle of it. Shit confused Bloggins.

Infinite Body, in theory, was good, but very taxing to listen to at the height of anticipation for “No Deachunter.” After two rather excitable openers and the funky fresh brain rape from White Rainbow, it was very difficult for me to enjoy light space drone that seemingly went nowhere (though L-Train said she enjoyed him the most of the four openers). His lights were cool, though.

At this point, it was already 10:30 p.m., but we did not wait long for Deuce D to appear first, then the ‘Hunters, then the two Bro Agers. The show began with a three act collaboration on Deerhunter’s “Cyrptograms.” It didn’t sound terribly different with the others’ input, but it was certainly fuller. No Age added extra drums and guitar to the song’s climaxes, and Deacon sprinkled electronic flourishes where applicable. After “Cryptograms,” the three acts began to take turns playing their songs in order -  No Age, then Deacon, then back to Deerhunter. Most of the show operated in this fashion, and that was just fine with us.

No Age was impressive. As mentioned, I liked No Age going in, but never found them anything to write home about – ya know, on record, the collective act as a general noisy punk group who ocassionally throw in ambient tracks for continuity. Live, they’re a different beast; a firey, snarky acid punk juggernaut. The band, as a duo, was chunky, full, and clear. It’s amazing what a little reverberation and amplication on the drum kit will do to up the ante. Each song they played was compact and succinct, ripping though much of Nouns, and keeping it all punk as fuck. They catalyzed a lot of crowd surfing, which is rather unusual at most of the shows I go to. You could cut the intensity with a knife. I see now why No Age is not overrated.

Deerhunter definitely delivered the goods. They kept the improvisation to a minimum compared with other bootlegs I’ve listened to, but hey, they were sharing the show. No time for dickin’ around with effects pedals. More importantly, Deerhunter has developed into a tighter entity over the years. The group certainly isn’t just a collection of studio dudes, they’ve got chops, too, and hearing the zenith of “Nothing Ever Happened” over thousands of watts was boisterous and Biblical. The band kept their set pretty Microcastle heavy, delivering the aforemtnioned, as well as “Cover Me/Agoraphobia,” and “Never Stops.” Though I would’ve enjoyed some deeper cuts – anything off of Turn It Up, Faggot or the latest Rainwater Cassette Exchange, it was awesome hearing the bombastic rendition of the title track off Fluorescent Grey:

Dan Deacon, perhaps unsurprisingly, was the showman of the evening. A veritable PT Barnum, Deacon decorated the stage with his various contraband – party lights, battery-powered flood lamps (for passing around the crowd), a trippy green skull staring into your soul – and ripped right in to his Future Shock synth assault, including the infamous “The Crystal Cat.” Antics abounded, including ample audience participation and human architecture experiments… like the one below. Unfortunately, the camera’s memory card was full during the song’s climax so the video cuts off. But you get the jist – a Dan Deacon show is basically a carnival (or a carnivale):

The show ended the way it began, with a everybody-gather-’round performance of No Age’s “Everybody’s Down.” If you’re familiar with the song, you know about its quite-loud dynamic. When the song kicked in after a minute and a half, six guitars, two drummers, and a madman behind a green skull and various analogue equipment extended the four-chord progression for over five minutes, with guitarist Randy Randall handing over his divining rod to the audience to let everyone else get a strum in. The bands were noticably having a blast, the crowd was ecstatic, vibes were good… I couldn’t think of a complaint if I was paid to… except maybe for being unable to figure out what Ed Schrader’s all about.

The seven date Round Robin tour ends tonight in Milwaukee, so if you’re in the SoWisc/Chicagoland area, make haste. It will be worth a scalper’s price if ya gotta.

Major industrial-sized props are due in the direction of mah boi Jim Lerza and Emily Crothers, who, after hearing about my recent camera issues and lack of funds, donated one for us to use. Secondly, Lana again came correct on the photo tip and snapped some of the best of the set, which are included below. If you like her stuff, visit her Flickr – dissonantobjective.

More photos after the jump.

YANP’s Matty J doin’ what he do:
The setup:

Before we begin, do you know who this is in the photo above?  No?  Why, it’s Marjorie Merriweather Post, the founder of General Foods, Inc.  Though she enjoyed a lavish lifestyle and socialite existence, the cereal magnate also subscribed to the Rockefeller school of philanthropic thought and donated tons of money to various causes, eventually getting an outdoor concert pavilion in Maryland named after her and, ergo, an album I’m getting ready to pop on the ghetto blaster.

So anyway, you know the drill.  When I grip a new and anticipated jam hive, I like to review it in “real time”… that is to say, I fuckin’ listen to that shizz and liveblog my thoughts on it, only revising for grammatical errors and editorial clarity. Today, Animal Collective’s forthcoming Merriweather Post Pavilion gets said treatment.  It comes out on Domino on January 20th in digital format, January 6th on analog (vinyl).  Unfortunately, you get no preview for yourself, as I got Web Sheriffed on Christmas.  Christmas!

I’ll try to keep this objective.  However, I’ve been a huge Animal Collective fan since I first heard “Slippi” from Here Comes the Indian roughly… I dunno, five years ago or so.  Hence, I have rather strong feelings toward this music, lots of nostalgia, and high expectations. This does, however, usually make for a better write-up.  My prediction – Strawberry Jam seemed to act as a bridge between Animal Collective’s weirdo rippin’ and the newer pop movements showcased in their recent live performances and, of course, Panda Bear’s solo outing.  I expect Merriweather to be AC’s most accessible release yet, for better or worse. 

Alright, let’s do this like Buddhists.  Mashin’ play:

“In the Flowers” - Begins in a flurry of somewhat disjointed sound, much like “Peacebone,” and well, “Did You See the Words,” too.  Perhaps this is the standard exposition for an Animal Collective release as of late. The faint, reverberated clean guitars that defined a lot of Feels come back before the track explodes into epic bombasticity.  Avey Tare sings in his absolute most melodic, soaring above a bed of piano, chopped string ensemble samples (or at least what sounds like such), and a lush, shoegazing wall of sounds.  Almost has a classic rock feel, come to think of it…

“My Girls” – Twinkly and glitchy samples introduce “My Girls,” which doesn’t derive too much from the live renditions of “House” heard over the past year or so, with exception of a greater vocal presence in the mix.  “My Girls” is a quite traditional verse-chorus structure, which is unusual for AC.  The lyrics are some of the least cryptic, tackling the important topic of takin’ care of you and yours.  After the second chorus, handclaps come in at perfect 4/4 time, solidifying the Collective’s first dance club banger. Similar to much of Strawberry Jam, “My Girls” is sample heavy and devoid of guitars.

“Also Frightened” – This is the first song that I’ve really enjoyed thus far.  “Also Frightened” is Animal Collective’s expansive circus chanty, with twinkly arcade pings in tow.  Enjoy equal throat duty from Avey and Panda over a waltzy rhythm and a Barrett like melody.  Best of the batch, so far.  Love the polyphonic vocal breaks.  Reminiscent of The Soft Bulletin.

Verdict:

“Summertime Clothes” – Fuzzy, grimy, bit-crushed, rigidly rhythmic samples kick start “Summertime Clothes,” originally known as “Bearhug.”  Big treble-riding beats drop in with mechanical Kraftwerkesque flourishes and Lee Scratch Perry reverb, cultivating a definite dubstep vibe.

“Daily Routine” -  Quite different from the live version.  Lots of booty bass, dense dance beats, and some strange glitchy organ swells reminiscent of “Baba O’Reiley” all build to a small crescendo before breaking into the first ambient moment of the record, featuring Panda singing “just a sec more, in my beeeeeeed” repetitively.  Another song about how rad kids are.  Not into this, save for Panda’s exceptional vocal intro.  The rest is way too Paul Oakenfold for my taste, though.

“Bluish” – Serious 4AD vibe… Dead Can Dance and Cocteau Twins specifically.  First AC song that most people would consider “pretty.”  This song is, actually, the most gorgeous, melodic output from Animal Collective ever… but at the expense of not really sounding like them.  Such branching out is very respectable though, and I always applaud experimentation and tweaking.  However, older fans may scratch their head on this record thus far.  I actually really enjoy this song, despite the somewhat corny vibe.

“Guys Eyes” – Aquatic textures and a cricket sound open the track, conjuring the bucolic soundscape that defines Sung Tongs.  With the rhythmic piano, syncopated beats, and two separate vocal melodies sung simultaneously, this is the closest to older Animal Collective on this album.

“Taste” - The total Panda Bear experience.  Person Pitch strikes back.  Sample organic percussion mixed with faint vocals and a sugary hook – this is obviously Noah’s track.  Actually, it seems that Noah has really taken over a lot of the creative direction with this record.  We know he’s really into dubstep and electronic exploration, loves Daft Punk, and enjoys a really good vocal harmony or two.  Personally, I like the play of the ying and yang between Avey and Panda, following the long tradition of ol’ Lennon and the Mac.  We’ve yet to hear Avey lose his shit as he’s wont to do, even on Strawberry Jam.  Regardless, AC ups the psychedelic vibe on this one, so I really enjoy this track.  Second favorite thus far, behind “Also Frightened.”

“Lion in a Coma” – I wasn’t a fan of this song when I first heard it live.  The recorded version is almost exactly the same, with the exception of a prominent didgeridoo sample and a full embrace of low end.  Good soundtrack for goin’ on safaris.  Unfortunately, I never go on safaris.

“No More Runnin’” – Zounds!  A ballad?  Intimate piano and vocals adorn this song almost exclusively, with the exception of a little bit of sonic manipulation from the Geologist.  This tracks sounds like it comes straight from Sigur Ros’ ().  The repeating of the song’s title, mixed with the slow tempo piano, is total Kiss FM style.  This majorly bums me out.

Verdict:

“Brother Sport” – Oh no, this is horrible. The tribal chant sounds like Sebastian the Lobster’s “Under the Sea” from The Little Mermaid.  This would be the perfect song for the dolphin show at the Louisville Zoo.  What the fuck, dudes?  Befouled!  Leave the stupid African vibe to Vampire Weekend, please.  I don’t know why Animal Collective turned into World Party in the album’s last quarter.  The final track is especially heavy on the 8-bit sound effects, invoking sadness for no longer having my old Nintendo.  To top it off, the song features this sort of beat that reminds me of the oft-utilized old school hip-hop “whoo!.. yeah!” sample.  Everybody dance now.  “I know it sucks that daddy’s dumb” is an amusing lyric, though.  Somebody was seriously baked.

I feel kinda bad for raggin’ on the last few songs, espeically after having worked two of their shows in the past and experiencing their (very refreshing) humility, politeness, and gingerly nature first hand.  But I had to be honest – the first half ruled, the second half… ehhh.  However, I’ll still buy this record when it comes out, see them play live, and support them to the maxxx… so it’s all zero-sum in the end.  Wavy gravy.

Final thoughts…

Despite their former and refreshing strangeness over the past decade, Animal Collective has reached the point of deafening critical praise wherein people of all tastes will listen.  This is totally deserved for a group as prolific and eclectic as Animal Collective.  However, Merriweather Post Pavilion, the group’s ninth offering, will probably provide their first truly polarizing record, though not in the way their earlier albums were polarizing.

Gone are the drone examinations, freak folk structures, and Avey Tare’s shamanistic yelps, now replaced with dub-informed booty bass, dance rhythms, and polyphonic vocal harmonies.  Merriweather Post Pavilion features a lot of firsts for the group, and as such, I offer nothing but respect for their daring – piano ballads, dream pop, shoegazing, dub, trance, and more are all explored.  In addition, their earlier approaches to songwriting are peppered throughout Merriweather: the sunny melodies of Strawberry Jam, the grating glitch of Here Comes the Indian and Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished, the bombast of Feels, the found-sounds and bellyhoo of Campfire Songs, and… well, nothing really from Sung Tongs.  So it’s an almost retrospective.  Regardless, it’s the tight compositions, catchy song-based structures, and completely dominate vocal tracks that are ubiquitously showcased throughout.  Newer Animal Collective fans will be pleased and impressed with the seamless amalgamation of sonically adventurous ideas and pop music, combining the bit-crushing texture of earlier works with the beat-heavy, soaring polyphonic melodies of Panda Bear’s sophomore solo record Person Pitch.  Fans of Sung Tongs and before, however, will scratch their heads wondering where their strange friends went.

Merriweather Post Pavilion is an enjoyable listen and certainly the next logical next step in context of Animal Collective’s trajectory, adding increasing pop sensibility with each release.  Animal Collective has still held their place in the top tier of contemporary artists.  Unfortunately, this new artistic statement is not the envelope-pusher that the experimentation of Here Comes the Indian and Feels offered.

Of course, the innate issue with the “Real Time Review” that should be addressed is that these thoughts are my initial impression and my opinion may change over time.  But right now, I feel pretty ambivalent overall.  There are flashes of brilliance (the first quarter of the album), and segments of banality (the last quarter of the album).  Perhaps I simply miss the old freaky-deeky Animal Collective I’ve known and loved.  Perhaps it’ll grow on me over time.  “Also Frightened” is the tits, though.

Fagen-Becker Quality Rating:

MP3 :::
Animal Collective – Web Sheriff Won’t Let Me Post Nothin’, So Enjoy a Sick Jam By Mr. T About How Awesome He Thinks His Mom Is

Undoubtedly, the conventional lore, exponentially propelled by the documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston, builds a towering mystique around Daniel Johnston – a troubled genius, a volatile and mysterious persona, a songwriter informed by mental illness, a musician catapulted to international success thanks to smart product placement by way of Kurt Cobain.  But seeing him live is something else entirely.  Seeing Daniel perform in an intimate setting like the Good Folk Festival on Saturday stripped away that mystique entirely.

This was my first time seeing Johnston, and I was really taken aback at seeing something truly unique.  But prior to that, we had a chance to see Daniel’s table at the exhibition.  I imagine that the prospect of showing and selling his art was a big incentive for Daniel’s family to make the special trip to Louisville.  Daniel, Mountain Dew in hand of course, was signing autographs, creating doodles, and chatting with a fanbase that’s arguably more well-wishing than most.  My best good buddy Brandon was able to snag one from him (pictured below) and was glowing about it shortly afterward.  Daniel’s sister had accompanied him this time, manning the table and taking care of logistics.  Daniel’s art is quite impressive, especially in real life, with the seamless meshing of pop art, surrealism, cartoonism, and colorful pastiche.

Daniel only played four songs, which is about average as he has immense stage freight. His stage presence is exactly what you’d expect from hearing his innocent, fragile voice.  Daniel strums through each song energetically, with a slight jitter, not looking up from his songbook stretched across a music stand in front of him.  The childlike innocence that permeates Daniel’s being is understood by everyone in the crowd, politely laughing at a botched joke like you would of a child’s.  Nick at Backseat Sandbar said: “Daniel stopped shortly after this song to tell us about a dream that he had in which a man was sentenced to death for committing suicide.  There was no follow-up, but a few chuckles from the crowd emerged.  After playing “Mask” he told us that he told us wrong about his dream, and that the man was sentenced to death for attempting to commit suicide, and the man was him.  He was sitting in the back of the court room and he reacted by screaming, “NOOOOO!”  Corrected, more laughs were garnered.”

He ended the show with the heavy “Freedom,” with the coda “Last night I dreamed / I died in my sleep / Only to awake / Lying in a coffin,” and then, “thanks everybody!”.  Quite an emotional gutpunch.

Afterward, we stuck around and examined all the booths.  It was a pretty large art fair, taking up two spacious exhibit spaces in the Mellwood Art Center.  The fair, by the way, was amazing.  It was mostly young artists showcasing excellent, subversive artwork.  And of course, Daniel had one of the largest booths there.  After seeing most of the other art, we returned to Daniel’s booth.  Most of the crowd had cleared out, and Brandon’s girlfriend Katheran was trying to find the original of the print she bought for his birthday. That’s when Daniel’s sister approached us: “can I help you all find anything?” she asked excited.  At that point, I knew what was coming – Brandon, as someone who works with children for a living, is bright and friendly as a motherfucker, so robust conversation was going to happen.  And we learned a lot.

Brandon asked a lot of questions, especially issues brought up in The Devil and Daniel Johnston.  Thankfully, Brandon did this in a tasteful way, as the film sometimes tries to indict the family at worst, portray them in not the most positive of lights at best.  No matter, Margie, though somewhat visually disappointed that we couldn’t purchase any original art, was gracious in speaking with us.  She mentioned a dislike for Jeff Tartakov, the original manager for Daniel, who moved his cassettes into proper distribution, noting that Jeff did not divvy up money proportionally.  “People are always trying to cheat Daniel out of money.  Someone would come up and say ‘hey, we’ll give you $50 to play.’ [imitating Daniel excitedly] ‘Awww, $50?!’ And so that’s why we’re here.”  She also shared that their mother, Mabel, is going through a lot of health problems at the moment straining the family.  It was during this time that Daniel strode determinedly through the crowd behind us to the booth, and behind the table exclaimed to Margie “I’m hungry, can I have some money for lunch?”  “Of course, I’ll give you $20, but no sugar!” she responded.  I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something really cool about seeing an intimate family moment like that, seeing what life with Dan (as Margie refers to him) might be like.

We bid goodbye and made our way through the rest of the fair.  At the expense of sounding totally cheesy, Daniel Johnston is really cool.  He creates original artwork, inspiration music, and hides away in his parents’ basement without a care in the world.  He showcases himself, and you get all his triumphs and all his scars with it.  And it’s funny to see so many musicians posture this idea of cool, yet Daniel is cooler than all of them while radiating all that’s not cool (mental illness, living with the folks, sweatpants).  The other thing I took away from the concert is a respect for Margie and the Johnstons.  Sure, they recognize the business the family generates from Daniel’s success, but it’s also undeniable that they have reached the point of understanding what Daniel’s best interests really are, and they roll with it with love and patience.  So much patience that they even sell the documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston.

Thanks to my friend Katheran for the photos.  It should be mentioned that she’s a reporter, so these are totally legit.

MP3 :::
Daniel Johnston – I Killed the Monster

So here’s the drill. Gang Gang Dance’s Saint Dymphna is out on October 21st on Social Registry. I have an advance copy and am going to sit down, listen, and blog my review/experience live, and hopefully, won’t have the egregious grammatical errors that plagued the Deerhunter real time review.

As far as the music that you find on this blog, Gang Gang Dance is a rather important force, and they have their fingers in a lot of pies. From conducting the the Brookyln chapter of the 88 Boardrums to opening for Sonic Youth (which was my first exposure to the group at the CMJ Music Marathon opening party) to buddying up with Animal Collective and Black Dice, they tend to be looked at as an artist’s artist.

For the Gang Gang Dance novice, GGD specializes in complex rhythms and dense layers of equal parts noise and melody, with tribal/worldbeat influences in both the percussion and the vocal chants. Like the Dirty Projectors, Gang Gang Dance is a New York band extremely popular in the noise kids circle while also, and perhaps inexplicably, gaining notoriety among the indie pop dorks. As such, Saint Dymphna, the anticipated follow up to 2005’s God’s Money, has a lot of dudes muy entusiasmado.Mashin’ play…

1) Bebey – 4:53
The first two minutes of this introductory track have a groove quite similar to their labelmates Growing. Lots of shattered tremolo-soaked noise until the Indian-influenced beat drops in. The timbre and rhythm of the percussion sounds almost like tablas – almost. The bit-crushed samples and treble-riding rhythm augmented with an Egyptian house flavor radiates a strange Matmos meets Lee Scratch Perry vibe. I would prefer if this track was an instrumental, as Liz Bougatsos’ yelps are distracting.

2) First Communion – 3:05
Daft Punk fans rejoice. At the 20 second mark, a serious space disco beat pokes through all the general weirdness. Gang Gang Dance has just proclaimed that Saint Dymphna will be their pop breakthrough. I’m going to go on and call them the Cibo Matto of the ’00s, and not just because of the accent-heavy vocals. The electro-acoustic dance sprawl throughout also recalls Excepter’s more beat-oriented material. Why is Gang Gang Dance considered a noise band? Experimental, yes, but not noise.

3) Blue Nile – 3:09
This is a great track! The deep harmonies, the mix of acoustic drums and synthesized beats, and the almost juxtaposed Middle Eastern vibe of yodels and chants conjures up prog to an extent, without the unnecessary length. If all of their material sounded like “Blue Nile,” they’d be a good fit for Sunburned Hand of the Man or Circle. I hope the rest of the album follows this vibe, as my esoteric ears will be won over instantly.

4) Vaccum – 4:13
Gang Gang Dance welcomes you to to sci-fi territories. You hear the archetypal “shooting lasers” effect mixed with thick, high octave synthesizer reminiscent of choice space rock, and a pinch of distortion. Though this is the group’s closet foray into psychedelic, it comes off as a bit corny.

5) Princes – 4:26
Woah, what the fuck? When did Gang Gang Dance get all up in the UK Garage genre? Who the hell is rapping? Sounds like a British version of Birdman, or whoever that dude was who collaborated on the Lil’ Wayne song about cake and eating stuff and riding motorcycles. Let me research this, brb…

Okay, back, it’s MC Tinchy Stryder, and he’s in the grime scene, not UK Garage. Are they different? I don’t remember. Anyway, this collaboration would’ve sounded pretty monumental and out of left field if it was released before Dizzee Rascal’s Boy in da Corner. No doubt that this is certainly a club banger, and hell, next time I DJ, I might throw this on. But right now it’s really harshing my mellow and is quite misplaced on this album.

5) Inner Pace – 3:17
A minute and a half of a meandering, phased out tabla-style beat with a “woo” at the end of each measure proves to be rather… annoying. The interlude, I suppose you could call it, gradually evolves into a barrage of glitchy space-age beeps, blips, Gameboy sound effects, and fractured vocals loops with a couple of “oh yeahs” in tow. Just because you can combine various genres and effects together doesn’t mean you necessarily should. I feel like M.I.A. is going to drop in any minute to bust a rhyme or two. Speaking of, I have an interesting story about Diplo peeing in my backyard that I’ll tell another day. True story.

7) Afoot – 3:25
I’m beginning to get bummed on this album. This is the first time where the tribal beats that defined God’s Money are really showcased, without any real melodies or noise explorations to augment them. Instead, you get a mostly spoken word diatribe against… something. Maybe capitalism? Maybe McDonald’s restaurants opening up in India? Maybe it’s a secret message to drink your Ovaltine.

8 ) House Jam – 4:44
The album’s mid section is really sagging. Sure, this would be an obvious single, as it’s the most melodic, and certainly the most straight-forward (pretty standard 3/4 measure), but songs like this are fairly unremarkable and don’t showcase why Gang Gang Dance has become so revered. “House Jam” is more like “Poppy Post Rock Dance Number” or “Richard Gere Dinner Party.” Battles pulled off this vibe a lot more fluidly and creatively with last year’s Mirrored.

9) Interlude – 1:16
Sounds like a vocal sample was spread across an octave and played along a traditional Middle Eastern scale. This is pretty cool, but unfortunately, Gang Gang Dance elected to form “House Jam” into a full length song instead of this one.

10 ) Desert Storm – 5:10
Soap opera intro? I have no idea what just happened in the first four seconds. It sounded like Liz and Tricky just broke up or somethin’. That’s a drag, man. “Desert Storm” is “House Jam Redux” – same tempo, same idea – amalgamating odd beats to swaying rhythms, broken samples fluttering in and out, and those expressive and worldly Cibo Matto vocals. “Desert Storm” is a really ridiculous and hokey name considering, ya know, they’re a band throwing Middle Eastern rhythms and melodies into their genre burgoo.

11) Dust- 5:30
At least Saint Dymphna ends on a high note. “Dust” is very, very reminiscent of some of my favorite Brian Eno work, primarily Another Green World and My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. Gorgeous melodies, engaging samples, a mystical, temple-like sonic milieu, and a phantasmal soundscape accent the majority of this instrumental. If the rest of this album took cues from “Dust,” Gang Gang Dance would’ve dropped a killer new joint.

I was hoping to have a more analytical, creative review for you all. Unfortunately, I suppose mediocre records result in mediocre entries. I apologize, but perhaps that says more in a review than anything – if the music can’t inspire you by example, then maybe not much needs to be said at all. As I’ve mentioned many times before on this blog, the notion of the “assocative listening experience” can really affect you negatively. With the amount of adoration and lauding Gang Gang Dance garners from taste-making acts, you expect something great, which also cultivates a ripe environment to be let down hard. I guess I don’t get why this isn’t as earth-shattering as I’m told it is, from people whose opinions I almost always agree with no less. Perhaps with multiple listens it will grow on me.

Saint Dymphna is not a bad album. As a matter of fact, it has flashes of brilliance in the first and last tracks that bookend the album. Unfortunately, Saint Dymphna does not remain consistent, and the band seems to spend the middle third of the album trying to reach out to a broad audience with club bangers that, although slightly askew, follow a pretty standard pop checklist. The really insane neo-tribal groove and slowly enveloping moods established on God’s Money, for all intents and purpose, were pretty much wiped out to make room the new, polished, pop-crossover direction. The actual Saint Dymphna is the patron saint of outsiders, mental illness, taboo subject manner, and general disorder – an odd name for a record that plays things pretty safe. Meh.

I included two songs I loved from Saint Dymphna and one I didn’t for your consideration. If you disagree with me, great, go purchase the album here. This is simply one man’s opinion, and most of my issues with Saint Dymphna deal with the fact that I’m not a huge fan of dance music. But if you are, and want a somewhat fresh approach to dance rhythms, you may find Gang Gang Dance’s latest more rewarding than I. And besides, writing about music is like dancing about architecture, right? Go on and listen to the samples below for yourself.

Fagen-Becker Rating for Psychedelic Quality:

MP3 :::
Gang Gang Dance – Blue Nile
Gang Gang Dance – Dust
Gang Gang Dance – Afoot

I’m not going to review the My Bloody Valentine show, at least in the traditional sense. Any show review more than a couple of paragraphs long while taking itself very seriously is innately stupid. At that juncture, such writing is fodder-saturated music critic masturbation, an attempt at trying to connect multiple points together and relate them to a particular concert or band when all you’re really doing is trying to show the world how smart you are. Fuck that. Unless it’s the Concert for Bangledesh, a live show is nothing more than a band who wants to rock it out in front of other people besides themselves and their recording engineer. It’s as simple as that. A long review also, statistically speaking, permits the phrase “rocked the [insert venue name]” to rear its ugly dome at some point, which I will not stand for.

So instead, I’d like to stave off the pretense and simply construct a grocery list of thoughts, then provide you with a couple of videos to czech out. First, I want to talk about my day today. How was yours? Well, great, that’s good to hear. Well, mine’s been busy. Besides uploading videos and returning missed calls, I’ve been taking time to learn American Sign Language.

I did something bad, you see. I took my earplugs out during the Holocaust Section. I did this for these reasons three. First, I wanted to experience it as it was meant to be heard. Secondly, the curiosity began to overtake me. It’s like when you have a friend, right, who says “hey man, take a whiff of this, it smells like shit.” You proceed to inhale the pungent, odiferous substance despite the disclaimer that you may not want to take a whiff of said substance or object. We all have this friend, and all do these things because we’re stupid and we do what our friends tell us. Kenny Bloggins has demonstrated time and time again that he is not a bright person, and proceeds to do things just like that. Third, I was feeling brave as I was rather drunk. We enjoyed a steady stream of screwdrivers at Bloggins Base Camp, the decided pre-game rendezvous nay two L stops from the Aragon, and preceded to continue with shitty domestic beer throughout the evening. So by the time the Holocaust Section rolled around, I was feelin’ groovy and ready and willing to do something dumb.

I now can’t hear a goddamn thing. Friends on the west coast attending this week’s shows – do not do this. This is a very bad idea. I now have severe tinnitus. This frequency buzzing in my ear right now… it’s loud, and it’s dying a slow death. I’ll miss not hearing this frequency ever again. It’s a good one. Now, the grocery list of thoughts on last night’s show:

1) One word: Biblical. Beautiful and unseasonably warm (78 degrees, breezy) day in Chicago, perfect for a religious experience.

2) Hopewell opened the show. They are a terrible band. If Incubus decided to experiment with dream pop, they would sound like Hopewell. The drummer rocked a mean faux-hawk. Not to be superficial, but if you’re in charge of finding support for the first appearance in over 17 years of a musically revolutionary/culturally vital group, conventional wisdom tells you to steer away from bands who elect, on their own volition, to sport a faux-hawk, ironically or otherwise. Hopewell pissed me off. I tried to think of a clever “1997 called and they want their radio-ready unit-pushin’ band back,” but nothing came to fruition. I can’t believe they’re on Tee Pee Records, who boasts an impressive roster of like-minded bands like Entrance, Brian Jonestown Massacre, and Earthless, since those groups rule and Hopewell does a lot of other things that don’t include “ruling.” Also, unless you’re a rhythmically complex, percussively intriguing band (Caribou and Warmer Milks come to mind, for example), you don’t need two drummers. Most listeners can’t even tell that you have two drummers. All you do is give the show’s sound engineer a big fuckin’ headache.

3) The live show demonstrates that MBV is not just an aural representation of what’s in Kevin Shields’ head. They are a rock band. Colm O’ Ciosig is a visually engaging, technically mind-blowing drummer. Debbie Googe’s low-end hellride is fluid and gravitational. I have no idea where the “shoegaze” term came from. Sure, Kev just sort drifts to the back and hangs out, but Debbie is straight Headbangers Ball. She rocked out on a very handsome Gibson Thunderbird bass, and danced like no one was watching. Sure, MBV is a concept, but they’re also an incredibly tight and monolithic live act – a formidable force.

4) If your girlfriend’s retarded, please don’t bring her to a watershed event such as the MBV reunion. This inconvenient bitch in front of us was, I believe, aboard the X-press train and bumping into us throughout the entire show, flailing her arms around and epically boogying. She kept trying to, I think, grind dance with my girlfriend and I despite the fact that a) we obviously weren’t interested, and b) you can’t dance to “Cigarette in Your Bed.” Seriously, cut it out. If you can’t control your shit, don’t leave the Grotto. This giggly little hoop-earringed, fluffy red blouse broad almost got knocked the fuck out by L-Dog, who is about a foot taller, a wicked ol’ dame, and was halfway to livid. Heads almost rolled, so luckily, Scottie 2 Hottie valiantly escorted his inamorata out of there before she was abruptly ended… or at least forcibly launched across the room. So here’s your Decibel Tolls public service announcement: most reasonable people, like L-Dog, have a rather low bullshit threshold. Guys, before you bring your shorty out, consider – does my girlfriend act like a shockingly stupid asshole when she drinks/does drugs? If the answer is yes, then either keep her from consuming the finer things in life, or let her hang out at the frat house or somethin’ where that behavior is more tolerated than a concert of this variety, one where people are trying to have a profound experience. MBV is my church. How would you like it if I crashed your youth group gathering to act like a fucking dick?

5) Visuals are important to me. Most of the bands I like to see don’t shred finger-tap solos whilst riding their guitar like a cock out of hell. As such, you better have some sort of visual element to your show. MBV delivered. I love the look of grainy 8mm film, especially when it’s rapidly cut. Lots of bucolic imagery plastered itself across the entire length of the Aragon stage, cultivating a truly psychedelic experience.

6) Bradford Cox likened the Holocaust Section as standing in front of a nuclear reactor, causing his balls to retract. My friend Jerry described it as sitting under a Saturn V rocket during lift-off without being burned. I can’t think of any better way to describe it. You can’t differentiate tones accurately beyond 140 decibels, which is ten above the threshold of pain for human beings. Mogwai clocked in at about 137 decibels, and as I mention in this story, almost completely blew the power for the entire building they were playing in. The structure of the building was constructed sometime around 1910, when the idea of 137 decibels was a nebulous endeavor. The building and adjacent structures actually shook and vibrated. The other insanely loud band I’ve witnessed was delightful noise hip-hop group, Dalek, who’s massive sound and intensity comes from using clean, direct input samples turned at high volume peppered with tones and frequencies whose timbre burrow deep into your ear canal. My Bloody Valentine is a different type of loud. If I had to guess, it had to be around 145 decibels (I’d be interested to know if anyone out there has an exact figure). It’s the type of loud wherein every single frequency in the audible spectrum is filled to capacity. It was thick enough to cut with a knife. During the Holocaust Section, I kept inhaling through my nose because it tickled. My nostrils vibrated in and out as a breathed due to the sheer number of molecules being pushed and pulverized by the sound waves fluttering about. I felt like I was hit in the face. There were reports from last weekend’s ATP that the band actually dislodged pieces of the ceiling during the 25 minute ordeal. I believe it.

7) There were three distinct reactions to the Holocaust Section. You either threw your arms in the air and embraced the Second Coming, you covered ears and mouthed “nooooo,” or you tried to leave the premises. I had the elusive fourth reaction: the feeling that a monk might have when he decides it’s time to dedicate his life to the church. Let me know what Good Works I can do for you, Kevin.

Eight) Yes, the acoustics in the cavernous Aragon do suck, and wipe out a lot of the sonic subtlety that is critical to the texture of MBV. This said, I was expecting to hear a less-than-clear show. The ballroom just isn’t meant for amplification. It was just like seeing Low at the Singletary Center for the Arts at the University of Kentucky – an amplified band in a room meant for acoustic acts. In some ways, though, I love the roar this scenario produces. It becomes disorienting, which I like. You lose yourself. By the way, I had to type out “eight” so Wordpress didn’t turn it into a smiley face. What the fuck?

9) I cannot give you any more insight into the show if you weren’t there, other than MBV did not disappoint. Thinking about that, it would be very hard to not disappoint, considering the length of their absence, the group’s mystique, and the general hype and celebration behind this tour. Kevin and friends had a lot riding on these shows, and they delivered the goods, at least Saturday night in Chicago. I feel lucky to have been there.

10) It is my belief that there will be no professional shots of this show. We saw no press in the barricaded section in front of the stage, presumably the photo pit. I tried to snag a photo pass from Mr. P at Tiny Mix Tapes, who related to me that pretty much nobody was getting a photo pass.

This is the best video of the batch, the show opener “I Only Said,” which I immediately posted here yesterday. I’m impressed by the sound quality considering how small my camera is versus how insanely loud MBV is. You can’t hear the vocals in the video because, well, you can’t hear the vocals in the mix in real life either.

The sound on my video for “When You Wake” is pretty satisfactory. However, I’m disappointed that, for some reason, I decided to constantly pan the camera left and right. I’m really sorry I did this. It’s annoying

And here’s a 30 second clip of the Holocaust Section, about 10 minutes in. That’s all you get, 30 seconds. But I clocked it at approximately 28 minutes, give or take one. I was standing by the beer line on the periphery because, well, you should sip on a man soda whilst your face melts off your skull. Plus, this was best enjoyed from a bit of a distance. I didn’t have a death wish that evening. Also, did you know that there’s drumming in the Holocaust Section? Yeah, me neither… I found that out when I took the earplugs out and the high end appeared in the mix all of the sudden. My good friend J-Rowdy Risner helped me upload this one, and he describes it well: “My Bloody Valentine tests the structural integrity of the Aragon.”

My favorite moments from Saturday’s performance included the B-side “Slow” and the whammy bar plus rhythm section assault of “Nothing Much to Lose.” The MP3s below aren’t from the Chicago show, but sound pretty similar nonetheless. Don’t forget about the soundboard quality vintage bootlegs I have over here.

Chicago – Aragon – 9.27.08 Setlist:

I Only Said
When You Sleep
You Never Should
When You Wake
Cigarette In Your Bed
Come In Alone
Only Shallow
Thorn
Nothing Much To Lose
To Here Knows When
Slow
Soon
Feed Me With Your Kiss
You Made Me Realise / Holocaust Section

MP3 :::
My Bloody Valentine – Slow (Live)
My Bloody Valentine – Nothing Much to Lose (Live)

Inspired by the Deerhunter blog debacle that unfurled before everyone’s eyes in real time last week, I’d like to review the new Deerhunter stereophonic delight Microcastle also in real time. Microcastle is available now on iTunes, and will be realized in the third dimension on October 28, courtesy of the smartest people alive – Kranky Records. Mashin’ play…

“Intro” (1:21) – I was hoping for a fun sketch or the like – ya know, somethin’ similar to the opener “Recognize” off of Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s Nigga Please. But no, this intro serves as a prophecy that Microcastle might be… egad, indie pop (as Fluorescent Grey was sorta suggesting). I hope not. There are pretty cool, fleeting, subterranean samples floating in and out of this instrumental though, so maybe we’re in the green.

“Agorphobia” (3:22) – The song begins with a Terror Twilight vibe. Catchy, decidedly sloppy, and vastly different than Cryptograms. This is Microcastle’s “Strange Lights.” BC wasn’t kidding about the whole “I wanna play around with pop hooks” nonsense he was writing on the Deerhuntertheband dot Blogspot dot com biz.

“Never Stops” (3:04) – Probably the most familiar song to people who, for whatever reason, spend time reading music blogs. Great pop melodies again. Luckily, what keeps this from being bumped at prom is the very distorted, distant guitars that sound like they were recorded from an AM broadcast then overdubbed. Very cool tone, and it keeps the track disorienting.

“Little Kids” (4:22) – All doubt about Microcastle was just crushed. “Little Kids” is utterly celestial. Pure, unadulterated, radiating joy. My favorite songs tend to start simplistically and all pianissimo, then rise in emotion (and guitar tracks) to the point of critical mass and fucking explode. This song begins as a tremolo-saturated, cutesy, high octave guitar riff not out of place on Siamese Dream. BC comes in with increasingly harmonic vocals, panning in and out of the headphone tech. Then at 1:47, low-rumbing fuzz guitars come in heavy and we’re all in big trouble. The band is exponentially growing like that plant in Little Shop of Horrors. Unequivocally, beautifully bombastic.

Look, it’s like this:
Gustav Mahler’s Seventh Symphony in, I believe, the third movement ends with a quintuple fortissimo crescendo (fffff) – horrendously loud. And that’s pussy shit to Deerhunter.

At 3:36, Bradford and Friends are clipping the shit out of their soundboard, because they can. Nothing but white noise – so loud that it doesn’t exist. “Little Kids” is the best shoegazing song that is not actually shoegazing I’ve ever heard. I’m smitten with the shitton of tambourine, too. Gonna listen to this again.

“Little Kids” (4:22) – My volume knob is now at the 4 o’ clock position, ready for “Little Kids” to provoke collateral damage again. This is going to hurt.

“Little Kids” (4:22) – I have that same feeling I had when I heard Animal Collective’s Strawberry Jam insofar as thinking “yeah, this is decent enough.” Then “Winter Winter Wonderland” came on and my brain turned into a cottoball. The timbre of the shimmering vocals, along with the frighteningly fluctuating bass line, is retardedly enchanting and gorgeous. But this song is also so brutal that I feel dirty, and the shower won’t wash it off. Don’t trip over the shattered guitar chords strewn about the room. Hitting the back button again.

“Little Kids” (4:22) – “To get older still, to get oooolduhhh stillllllll”

“Little Kids” (4:22) – FUUUUuuuucccck

“Little Kids” (4:22) – Hyp. Notic.

“Little Kids” (4:22) –

“Little Kids” (4:22) – I need to move on or I’ll never finish this.

“Microcastle” (3:40) – The title track brings you back down and provides the sharpest turn in the album yet. Sparse guitar chords, reverberated vocals, and not much else. The song evokes a slow ’60s ballad feeling for the vast majority of the movement. Then a sudden, quick distortion burst that Mogwai would do just to fuck with you.

“Calvary Scars” (1:37) – This is not an interlude. Clearly drawing a line in the sand between this album and the sophomore effort again, whereas Cryptograms would’ve taken this chance to do some drone examinations and zone-out time, “Calvary Scars” is a fully sweeping song replete with Spanish guitar, bells, piano, and phased vocals. Kinda folky. Kinda elegiac. Kinda awesome.

“Activa” (1:49) – Seamlessly continuing the mood from “Calvary Scars,” “Activa” takes full advantage of the space available around it. Super haunting, like “A Ghost Story” from the Atlas Sound record.

“Nothing Ever Happened” (5:50) – Second best track on the album. Mid-tempo, cosmic, triumphant kraut rock groove with an almost psych-punk punch straight outta 1992. The guitar fuzz is so enveloping, I feel like I’m listening to fleece. Was that simile stupid? Regardless, Bradford Cox is slaying me with the mechanical, calculated, trenchant bridge. Transient.

If Lightning Bolt were a pop band with vocals, they would sound like this song, at least in tone and crazed composition. The closing 2/3 of the song is so focused, bouncy and driving that it makes your eyes dart. It’s one of the few times you’ll hear a psych-influenced garagey band really jam out, but with total restraint (sorta like moments on Murray Street) and absolutely NO aimless an/or stupid guitar noodling. Comparing this to Can would be a stretch, but there’s some old lore that suggests that Can, when performing live, could focus their energy and precision so sharply that audience members would actually vomit. Supposedly this is true, and this song proves that Deerhunter also has this power.

“Saved By Old Times” (3:30) – Blues? Really? Well, not really blues. But a swingin’ guitar riff dominates this song’s initial sonic milieu. Coupled with reverb-soaked vocals, fans of The Tower Recordings and MV & EE will be stoked. The track takes a well-executed, feathered change in direction as the band returns to the repetitive guitar noddling and krautish driving rhythm that defines Fluorescent Gray’s title track.

“Neither of Us, Uncertainly” (5:25) – Despite the ominous structure, BC’s still comin’ correct on this whole ’60s vocal pop thing that, I think, gives Microcastle a very, very unusual sound.

“Twilight at Carbon Lake” (4:24) – This is the most traditionally “psychedelic rock” sounding song on the album, with all the normal fixins in tow – reversed loops, rapid-fader effect-laden vocals. Flood gates are opened and Gabriel sounds his trumpet at just the right now. The kickdrum and snare hit brutally in unison, rides crash, and Big Muff gain is ridin’ high. This is the sound The Helio Sequence has been trying to score for a long time. A better version of the title track, “Twilight at Carbon Lake” is a lovely little apocalyptic ending to an album that isn’t as much of a joyride as it is a journey.

Overall, this is a better album than Cryptograms, which I was not expecting despite being a huge Deerhunter fan. In many ways, it’s more accessible, as there’s a more defined pop-focus throughout. But in other ways, it’s not as accessible. You can turn on Cryptograms and sink in your comfy chair and let time pass. Microcastle creaks and twists, turns sharply almost every other song, and runs a serious exercise in experiments between soft and loud. It’s a fuckin’ shapeshifter. Microcastle progressively becomes a more remarkable album, as well. While the first three songs sound like a weirded-up indie rock band, “Little Kids” violently thrusts Microcastle into the Van Allen Belt. The results are sick.

Coming next time — Weird Era Cont. review, which won’t be in real time. But I am currently listening to it. It, too, is pretty phenomenal. More on that later. Protip: Weird Era Cont. is not the ying to Microcastle’s yang. Both are equally pop, equally experimental, and completely complementary, though Deerhunter will play with genres on Weird Era Cont. like you play with Legos. Look for that tomorrow or so.

This is only the third time in this calendar year that an album burned by temporal lobe to the ground. The first was when I finally gripped the Left Banke anthology and when I was subjected to the Cloudland Canyon jam hive.

Fagen-Becker Rating for Psychedelic Quality:

MP3 :::
Deerhunter – Little Kids
Deerhunter – Nothing Ever Happened