.:spitfirepress

Making Time presents - Klaxons @ Transit, Philadelphia, PA 2007.04.14

2007-07-20T23:09:00.001-07:00

Voxtrot & Two if by Sea @ Ottobar, Baltimore - 2007.07.17

2007-07-20T22:23:00.000-07:00

Voxtrot [Austin, TX]

Two if by Sea [Baltimore, MD]

Live Photos - 2007.03.23 - Ponys, Black Lips, Films & Blondsai @ Ottobar

2007-03-27T00:57:00.000-07:00

Blondsai (Baltimore, MD)

The Films (Charleston, SC)

Black Lips (Atlanta, GA)

The Ponys (Chicago, IL)

Live Photos | The Walkmen & Broken West @ Ottobar

2007-03-16T20:57:00.000-07:00

Walkmen

Broken West

Live Photos | The Whigs @ Fletchers 2007.03.08

2007-03-16T20:51:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Soft @ Ottobar, Baltimore, MD

2007-02-22T13:54:00.001-08:00

Live Review | The Colour & The Shys @ Mount Vernon Square, Baltimore, MD - 2006.09.07

2006-11-07T22:15:00.000-08:00

Live Review | The Rentals @ 9:30, Washington, DC 2006.08.05

2006-08-08T21:25:00.000-07:00

... as seen on Spin.com.

Live Review | The Whigs 2006.06.27@ Fletchers, Baltimore, MD

2006-07-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Radio 4 @ Sonar, Baltimore, MD [2006.06.27]

2006-07-07T09:43:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Calexico + Jason Collette @ Trocadero, Philadelphia, PA [2006.06.25]

2006-06-28T15:10:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Sonic Youth @ 9:30, Washington, DC 2006.06.14 Late Show

2006-06-23T10:12:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Two If By Sea @ DC9 2006.04.27

2006-05-12T11:45:00.000-07:00

god bless the schlitz

Live Review | The Stills @ Sonar 2006.04.08

2006-04-19T00:36:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Ponys @ Talking Head 2006.04.06

2006-04-18T13:58:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Stellastarr* & Editors @ Sonar 2006.04.02

2006-04-12T11:36:00.000-07:00

editors

stellastarr

Sharing the matte black cavern of Sonar’s club stage, tour mates Stellastarr and Editors represent two schools of new wave romantics. Stellastarr’s genre bending debut represented a shift towards flamboyant art rock from the Strokes disaffected lifestyle noise. Editors attempt to shift the sound back to the future, arriving half-way to Interpol’s melancholy robotic tensions and adding their own punked-out shoegazer elements. Hardly old hands, Stellastarr plan to give the young turks a run for their money, stepping aside from headliners to support mid-tour.

Further carving their own distinctive place among the lions of new rock with their second LP (Harmonies for the Haunted), Stellastarr defy categorization, breaking away from the critical scrutiny of their influences to. Frontman Shawn Christiansen rips and flails on stage to “On My Own”, his voice a Siamese David Byrne/ Richard Hell monster, hinging between choir and chaos. The down tempo rhythm is haunting long before his floor-crawling seizures. Propelling the eerie thump, drummer Arthur Kremer stands mid-way through and rips electrical tape x’s from his nipples, gritting his teeth. Bombshell Amanda Tannen steals the spotlight with meandering basslines and harmonic chirps behind Christiansen’s blare. The boy-girl dynamic works with Pixies-like effect on former single “My Coco”, marching the song until it stands erect on piercing guitar lines cutting through the air. A student of Johnny Greenwood University, guitarist Michael Jurin tweaks his way to sheering white noise, scalding “Love and Longing” before reducing it to a woozy dream, boosting Christiansen’s ascending vocals.
Stellastarr plays their fierce dance rock with all the enthusiasm of garage band teens, as eager to please a club of one hundred as they are the thousands they have possessed worldwide over the last three years. Fervent, sharp and reckless, the Brooklyn foils heighten the atmosphere and lay down the gauntlet to the upstarts Editors.

Editors’ singer/ guitarist Tom Smith shyly saunters on stage behind husky bassist Russell Leetch at half past eleven with the unenviable task of maintaining that momentum. Residing in Birmingham, England (the cradle of Black Sabbath), Editors have focused their dark arts more on the Thatcherism-era depression than the devil himself. However, the doomy debonair of their debut album washes away like a goth’s mascara when Smith nervously greets the crowd: “Thanks for stickin’ around.”

Smith squints, slowly regaining focus as his eyes gradually adjust to the spotlight. He giggles with guitarist Chris Urbanowicz, slinking through the strap of his Telecaster and nervously adjusting the mic stand. He closes his eyes, breathes deep and simultaneously strums and sings the opening to “Lights” briskly strumming to lifting guitar leads. Ed Lay’s cowbell plonk on “Blood” anchors Leetch’s pogo rhythm, as Smith and Urbanowicz alternately shimmer as shyness works off and Smith’s volatile side comes to bear. He shivers and shakes like a Parkinsonian Thom Yorke, stomping and banging his guitar as he strums the progression under a lead that cuts like police sirens through a calm night. When the song ends, Smith is so excited his polished accent turns to a giddy prattle - reflecting the enthusiasm of the crowd as the show progresses, in a town he’s never been to and possibly never thought of.

“Camera” glides in over synthesized chords played by Smith as he pours love lorn lyrics over top. The stark black stage fills with cigarette smoke as heart rates slow down, causing a surreal, nearly religious experience amid Urbanowicz’s bell chime guitar. They stay in the down-tempo briefly through “You Are Fading,” before the pounding of guitar, drums and bass all drive the song outward.
Debuting two newer songs, “Weight of the World” and “Bones”, Editors show sings of growth and polish, counterbalancing the stadium-sized punch with delicate introspection. Though the blistering singles (“Bullets”, “Munich”, “Blood”) and trampling set closer “Fingers in Factories” are worth the price of admission alone, the awe-inspiring promise Editors carry behind their passion will keep fans coming for years to come.

Both Stellastarr and Editors display the fundamental traits that make the “brand new wave” so compelling. While one band is the torch-bearers of the first wave and other is the sign of the times, they prove they are both more than just tightly-space dance beats, bottomless rhythms and sharp guitars. The delight and spirit behind the music Stellastarr and Editors produce make them artists among businessmen.

Editors

Live Review | South @ Sonar 2006.03.29

2006-04-11T13:52:00.000-07:00

British music has always been fodder for the fickle beasts that are American consumers. While Coldplay are devoured as a sugary feast and Radiohead a literate delicacy, groups from Muse to Slade have dented charts and hearts across the pond and barely bounce off college listeners, never breaking the market. Londoners South, who have grown from teens to torch-bearers, may fall into that gap, but they could represent the last great band from the twitching corpse of Brit-Pop.

In three records, South turned their teenage attention deficits from trippy electronica beeps to lush melody-forged pop gems plucked from the clouds. As the group grows on record, live they are forced to tone down to a primitive, yet well-suited end. Taking hints from model reinventionists Wilco, South boils down the layered and complex into the basic with stunning results. While the ambition of their earlier electro-tinged work often distracted from the cute simplistic melodies and daydream hooks of the songwriting trio. That core, Joel Cadbury, Jamie McDonald and Brett Shaw, can and do switch instruments without any strain on the music or their abilities. With Cadbury on bass and singing, McDonald and Shaw duel for guitar leads away from the attention-stealing bass leading finer songs by the nose (“Safety in Numbers”, “Keep Close”).

The expressive deconstruction of “Paint the Silence”, complete with hypnotic keys-as-strings, washes up and rolls back onto the chorus. “Motiveless Crime” is all rhythmic pounding, vibrating the monitors to the stage edge amid more synthetic sweeps and Cadbury’s psychedelic hush. Despite the calming effect, members of their touring party, including Margot and the Nuclear So and So and Something For Rockets dance around the audience like chocolate-stained children in an amusement park. The mania lets Cadbury chuckle briefly mid-song, as he reels back in his focus, biting his lower lip between verses. His face then fatigues, straining to get back into character as the words errupt from him.

“Shallow” exhibits their new melodic purpose defining the album it opens (Adventures in the Underground Journey to the Stars was released domestically April 4). The turn towards pop substance over the often cluttering electronics defines South as a live entity. Achieving such rapturous, blissful atmospherics, South is earning a reputation as equals to post-Brit Pop elder statesmen Doves and Elbow, and not simply their squeaky-voice younger siblings.

Blindly listing “cover song” on their set list, Cadbury and company breeze over the bristle of New Order’s “Bizarre Love Triangle”, the wunderkinds bisect the song for it’s pop sway early and then into club-moving slice of their roots.

The tragedy of South stumbles into the commercial void of car commercials and O.C. soundtracks would be enormous - few bands have created such a testament to their own diverse music growth and maturation towards brilliance.

Something For Rockets

Live Review | Mogwai @ Sonar 2006.03.07

2006-03-18T01:28:00.000-08:00

The duality of Baltimore seems an appropriate venue for Glasgow’s Mogwai: a city reputed for both serene, waterfront tourist attractions and volatile crime rates. The band is known through the press for sharing their fierce opinions willingly on any political or musical topic, as mouthpieces Stuart Braithwaite and Barry Burns are more apt to reveal what they hate (Blur, Queen, Bush) on paper, as opposed to what they love (Scottish folk music, My Bloody Valentine, John Waters, apparently). In contrast, their music is void of voice for the most part. It does however, share heart attack-inducing decibel spikes with gentle twitches of atmospheric pop wonder. Despite the readily served tongue lashings, the group is amazingly humble during their March performance at Sonar, avoiding the mood-setting blue spotlights, hiding their faces in shadows.
Every movement of their live show is created to elicit the proper shock and suspense in their audience. Their cacophonic constructions are meant to soften the listener’s spine and screech to a halt. Their precision is laser-guided in and out of focus, creating one of rock’s most exciting acts – live or on record.
Meandering into “Mogwai Fear Satan” guitarists Stuart Braithwaite, John Cummings and Barry Burns weave hushed distortion in and out of one with hypnotic effects that could relieve Alan McGee of his wallet. “You Don’t Know Jesus” from 2001’s Rock Action is so righteously epic, but still based around a simple child-like melody, buried under a debris of cymbals and simultaneous layers of the same melody from each guitar. The band is both unrestrained and frightening at once and nimbly slopes into a delicate coda and silence again, as though this was a natural occurrence. The three-note repeating guitar buzz that shreds the ears apart with distortion is not however.
As Burns takes to the massive keyboard/ laptop setup at stage right, Stuart drops to his knees and twiddles effects knobs generating a hypnotic mood through “I Know You Are But What Am I”, bleeding into the spiraling “Stanley Kubrick”. The group collectively stuff every second with as much as they possibly can, stabbing and shaking noise from every inch of their instruments, though not dragging the song past the five-minute mark.
Closing the first set with the cavernous echoing of “Hunted by a Freak” and the choking riff of “Glasgow Mega-Snake”, Braithwaite maniacally bangs his Telecaster, leaning his stout figure briefly out of the fog and shadows to expose eyes sunken into a bald skull, framed by a mad grin.
The transcendental effects of Mogwai floats over their audience like a post-rock nerve gas, eventually crashing onto them in frenzy. Braithwaite and company, in the expertise, turn their peers into an endless sting of amateur acts who can’t show their teeth of conviction through the haze of their sound. Few acts in rock can even fabricate the punk theory and poetic practice that Mogwai naturally radiates – live or on record. - Rob Macy

Live Review | Calla @ Sonar 2006.01.27

2006-02-13T22:00:00.000-08:00

Live Review | We Are Scientists @ Sonar 2005.01.18

2006-01-26T10:12:00.000-08:00

2005 Year-End Survey

2005-12-07T22:47:00.000-08:00

artist of the year

Ryan Adams
ten favorite records of the year
Babyshambles Down in Albion
Living Things Ahead of the Lions
Bloc Party Silent Alarm
Bright Eyes I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning
Idlewild Warnings / Promises
Kaiser Chiefs Employment
Rilo Kiley More Adventurous
The Cloud Room s/t

Ryan Adams 29

Editors The Back Room

five honorable mentions

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Howl
Franz Ferdinand You Could Have It So Much Better
Art Brut Bang Bang Rock N’ Roll
British Sea Power Open Season

Serena Maneesh s/t
ten favorite songs of the year

Love Steals Us From Loneliness by Idlewild
Fallen by Franz Ferdinand
When the Sun Goes Down by Arctic Monkeys
Na Na Na Na Na by Kaiser Chiefs
You Only Live Once by The Strokes
Part of the Queue by Oasis
Albion by Babyshambles

Always Love by Nada Surf
Modern Art by Art Brut

Inaction by We Are Scientists
five favorite live shows of the year

...Trail of Dead, April 7 at Black Cat
Ted Leo + Pharmacists, November 23 at Ottobar

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, September 28 at 9:30

Idlewild, September 10 at 8x10

Rilo Kiley, September 8 at Sonar

favorite songwriter(s) of the year

Conor Oberst for I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning
Ryan Adams for 29, Jacksonville City Nights & Cold Roses

favorite e.p's or mini-albums of the year

Artic Monkeys Five Minutes With Arctic Monkeys

favorite reissue of the year

At the Drive-In – relationship on Command
favorite album art

Kaiser Chiefs – Employments luxury liner brochure
favorite video of the year

Idlewild Love Steals Us From Lonliness

Jamie Thraves, director

biggest disappointmetn of the year

The leaked Weezer demos being better than the entirely

new, different and boring album they released

favorite music discoveries of the year

Old Gang of Four, The Posies

New Voxtrot, Rotary Ten, Departure
the next big thing

Rotary Ten will be huge when the Arctic Monkey’s

get spanked with an NME backlash

The biggest loss to music this year

The end of C.B.G.B.
That NYC doesn’t accept it’s place in cultural history and preserve

the club is atrocious. The club and what it represents has never

been more needed than now, during the reign of "mall punk."
most underrated artist of the year

Idlewild have now released three of the year’s finest rock records

consecutively and no one knows (with the exception of Details,

who named Warnings/ Promises album of the year)
most overrated artist of the year

The Babyshambles record was good, but Pete Doherty’s shit live

performances and erratic behavior make Mick Jones’ production

prowess seem necessary to make him even appear coherent

Live Review | Ted Leo & the Pharmacists @ Ottobar 2005.11.23

2005-11-29T17:04:00.000-08:00

Live Review | Kings of Leon 2005.09.24 @ Sonar

2005-11-11T18:27:00.000-08:00

Live Review | Doves @ Sonar 2005.09.17

2005-11-11T18:23:00.000-08:00

Live Review | Idlewild @ 8x10 2005.09.10

2005-09-21T15:01:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Rilo Kiley @ Sonar 2005.09.08

2005-09-19T21:38:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Ryan Adams@ Meyerhoff Symphony Hall 2005.06.07

2005-08-22T17:33:00.000-07:00

Shot on a Pentax Optio from the second tier, stage right. Lost Highway refused any press credential requests from the release of 'Cold Roses' through this tour at Ryan's request. Therefore this smuggled point-and-shoot was used as opposed to my usual equipment.

A 12" x 12" Canvas

2005-07-03T17:25:00.000-07:00

Some cover art designed by spitfirepress limited for personal use.

Live Review | Kasabian 05.13.05 at Theater of Living Arts, Philadelphia, PA

2005-06-03T11:27:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Secret Machines @ Ram's Head Live! 04.26.05

2005-05-16T21:29:00.000-07:00

Live Review | Brendan Benson 04.14.05 @ Theater of Living Arts, Philadelphia, P.A.

2005-05-01T20:27:00.000-07:00

Live Review | ... Trail of Dead @ Black Cat 04.07.05

2005-04-30T17:52:00.001-07:00

Conrad Keely’s voice cracks every time he hits a high note in such a unique and charming way, no one would ever expect such a destructive spectacle as And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead to flow behind it. Half speaking the opening stanzas of “Will You Smile Again for Me” in front of a massive stage set-up, including second guitarist Kevin Allen, and the twin drum kits enveloping Doni Schroader and co-vocalist/ guitarist/ inciter Jason Reece. Around 7 minutes into the warbled verses, the first visceral moments begin.

Keely, once tortured by his introspection, has turned inside-out with rage encouraged by Schroader and Reece assault the drum kits like a synchronized anti-aircraft emplacement. A perfectly honed and volatile experiment into the progressive journey of …Trail of Dead’s music. The calming effect of Keely’s voice both yielding to and subduing the riotous output of Reece’s aggression is the perfect dichotomy that defines the group, their music and their increasingly notorious live events.

As Reece and Keely trade places (from guitar and vocals to drumming) mid-song, logic behind the daring and hardened reputation of the group comes to light. “Caterwaul” has Reece choking his guttural voice (similar to Greg Dulli in mortal agony), until he releases hideous growl through the chorus, all the while perched precariously atop a wedge monitor, swaying between balance and the front row. It is Reece’s unpredictability that contrasts Keely’s persona, and at times even instigates his evil side to emerge. As the song degenerates into a flailing cacophony, Reece twists for a solid footing and his guitar sweeps low, into the head of a teenage girl. He continues unaffected collecting the microphone stands and cables in a cyclone of destruction. When the song ends and a bleeding squeal fills the room, he walks over to check on her, patting her aching head before returning to the drum kit. At stage left, stalwart guitarist Kevin Allen lights his third cigarette of over a dozen during the show, and finishes his beer. He seems almost immune to the spectacle his counterparts produce, despite his guitar tones being one of the most nurturing elements of their progressively explosive behavior.

As Keely leans in close to the crowd, pleading the lyrics to “Totally Natural” in an emotionally frantic manner, Reece goes berserk behind the drum kit. And as he cocks his knees to his sweaty chest and expels the drum kit into the crowd, collecting Keely.

The balance between these two defining personalities in …Trail of Dead becomes more and more the focus of interest during the show. The dynamic and ambitious music they perform serves as a greater stage for the harmony and disharmony that exists between Keely and Reece and the audience they play to. As the ear splitting finale of “Richter Scale Madness” rings, Keely begins to pull bodies from the front, and the thrashing spectators make their way on stage. With both Schroeder and Reece banging away, the communal blind love and hate surges. And despite it all …Trail of Dead, as reckless and dangerous as they may be to their fans, prove to be righteous in the face of their own madness.

And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead's Official Website www.trailofdead.com
Merge Records Website www.mergerecords.com
Black Cat, Washington D.C. Website www.blackcatdc.com

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight www.earlash.com

Live Review | Graham Coxon 03.30.05 @ Black Cat, Washington, D.C.

2005-04-05T18:12:00.000-07:00

With their 1998 self-titled album, Graham Coxon and Blur were under immense pressure following two masterpiece records with something just as interesting, if not totally bold and divergent from their previous efforts. The landmark that was 1994’s Parklife set a precedent for the group and all but defined the Brit Pop phenomena as arguably the genre’s best record. The new record was neither Parklife nor the follow-up The Great Escape, but an ode (and jab) at the American indie movement that Blur once competed with for pop headlines. The groups’ adoration of transcendent rock and it’s predecessors (Sonic Youth, Pavement, Pixies) was washed away under the disappointment of American consumers when they didn’t get “Song 2” the album after the single dropped.

The often tenuous relationship between singer Coxon and his partners didn’t improve under the scrutiny of the record and their flicker of stateside chart success. When 13 was released, Coxon had already debuted some inspired solo material, and contributing only a few overdubs to what would be his final Blur record. He would go on to embrace the music of his youth in his solo work, including punk and psychadelia, which he couldn’t always indulge in as a member of Blur.

Stumbling on stage in a blazer and his trademark horned-rim glasses, Graham Coxon is the picture of kind yet anti-social rock genius, bearing a strong resemblance to a young Elvis Costello. Flooding his system with a mix of Jolt Cola and Red Bull, he quickly degenerates into a hyperactive teenager once strumming through “My Hopeless Friend” then banging “No Good Time”. Two songs deep into the setlist, he’s lost his blazer and nearly sent his specs spiraling into the audience with his stage antics. His transition from humble and modest into manic adolescence is a privilege not often afforded by his later time in Blur. Coxon’s new music has afforded him a substantial outlet for homage to his own early influences and his current ones as well.

Over the course of Coxon’s solo tours, a different backing band has been used nearly every time. His current touring five-piece give the guitarist an even more ample platform for antics, remaining fluidly agile behind Coxon’s whims. Playing “Just Be Mine“ (from 2004’s Kiss of Morning) and “Are Your Lonely” (from his 1998 debut The Sky is Too High) nearly back-to-back, Coxon predominantly played material from his newest release Happiness in Magazines. The swaying joviality of the record gives a youthful Coxon’s a greater importance as well, separating him from the resistant pack of Brit Pop guitarists-turned-solo artists. Neither John Squire nor Bernard Butler (ex-Stone Roses and Suede, respectively) could produce the accessible and non-pretentious record that Coxon has. Through the melody and charm of his new material, live and on record, he isn’t too shy to show-off what made his name, blistering his digits through “People Of the Earth”.

Coxon shows his range capably but tactfully, with “Girl Done Gone” dredging the Delta swamps before turning into an electrified stomp. “Bittersweet Bundle of Misery” holds closely to Coxon’s hybridized Pavement squeals and Buzzcocks punk over “Spectacular” and “Freakin’ Out”. Mission of Burma’s “Fame and Fortune” was another testament to his love of the indie godfathers, as “That’s When I Reach for My Revolver” (recorded on 2000’s The Golden D) had been a live show standard.

Towards the evening’s end, Coxon shows his enjoyment in being on his own, playing “Hopeless Friend”, which may be as much a stab at Blur singer Damon Albarn as “Charmless Man” was to Noel Gallagher. As the English music tabloids hoot and holler about a Blur reunion, seeing Graham Coxon performing his material in his own manner exposes a happiness he couldn’t find in collaboration and certainly not under the pressure the Blur moniker guarantees.

Grahan Coxon's official website www.grahamcoxon.co.uk

Astralwerks Records site www.astralwerks.com

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight

Live Review | Interpol @ Sonar, Baltimore, MD 03.24.05

2005-03-29T21:34:00.000-08:00

It was a miserable, rainy early-spring evening in Baltimore. The weather in Charm City is predictably unpredictable, no matter the season. As the work whistle blew for construction workers at city hall, they stopped tearing away the park the city’s chess players once worked their minds. As the grinding of the machinery came to a halt, the sound of diesel busses rumbled into ear range. Circling the corner to the city’s premier underground establishments, the busses stopped and Carlos D., Daniel Kessler, Paul Banks and Sam Fogarino emerged one at a time from the folded doors to the street. Each adjusted their sunglasses before removing them entirely, as the overcast Baltimore sky wasn’t harsh to their nocturnal eyes. As Fogarino walked to the steps of the bus, squinting his eyes, he waves to the dozen or so fans waiting nearly six hours before for the show and flashes a smile, less one tooth.

The appearance of Interpol in Baltimore was unexpected considering the lack of larger-scale club venues in the city to accommodate their itinerary. The fact that they were playing at the underground culture warehouse Sonar was downright shocking. The venue was making some rumblings for opening their doors to popular electronic and D.J. acts like Crystal Method and L.T.J. Bukem, but to have these praised perpetrators of indie rock was a staggering leap forward for an institution destined to expand into new things.

As the crowd packs tighter towards the chipped paint on the stage barrier, ventilation gets worse and worse. Fresh air becomes a luxury in the front rows, where the chain smoke ultimately filters like a gas chamber. Just as fire codes snap in two and the smell of vomit begins to permeate, the lights come down. A collective 10 feet appears from the crowd’s excited gasps. The visibility is so bad that only the ivory silhouettes of the group stand out from the floating grey. The band seamlessly melds into their instrumental roles, arriving on stage to the organ of Antics’ opener “Next Exit”. The intro fades into the note-pairing guitar work from Kessler and Banks, who’s dry vocals haunt every listener. The complex, anxious drumming of Fogarino mesmerizes and by the time the group evolves into “Untitled”, he and Carlos are having their way with everyone’s attention.

Carlos D. is a sight in person – appearing over 6 feet tall on stage, with stage attire stolen from the Madison Ave. chapter of the brown shirts, he dances and writhes with his own bass rhythms, sometimes leading songs more than his counterparts. He is never contrived and never anything but artistic, like a rejected design from the Warhol Factory, digging in his renaissance decades after conception. Fogarino may be the best jazz drummer in indie rock – he works like a Swiss watch, as intricate as modern instrumentalization gets on stage. Every nuance is necessary to the song, impossible to imitators and elementary in his hands.

“Slow Hands” comes in with a rapturous attack and the crowd lifts with it’s multiple ascensions, coming down twice as hard upon each delivery. Every repetition causes a greater surge of the crowd. “Obstacle 1” keeps the pulse moving quickly, swaying with an angular twitch from Carlos that jerks necks from side to side. The effortless blending of songs from both Turn on the Bright Lights (including a suffocatingly urgent performance of “P.D.A.”, “Say Hello to the Angels”) and Antics (“Public Pervert”, “Length of Love”). The entire band is in peak form for this show, which is later judged among insiders and fans alike as one of the tours’ best. Banks agreed calling the assembly a “fucking bad ass crowd” before departing after the first set closer “N.Y.C.”

The appearance of the rarely performed “C’Mere” made the show all the more memorable and proved the impression left by the crowd on the band. The power of Interpol performances are mutual, with the crowd’s euphoria turning the band on like a switch and generating a greater reaction from the crowd. The song carried the vital, unrelenting sound into the bouncing bridge and pre-chorus again building the crowds excitement until choking them on their own bliss. A euphoric version of “Roland” nearly sends the crowd into joyous turmoil as Kessler choked the riffs from his Epiphone, shaking it into the flight-of-steps-falling chorus, finally calming slightly with “Stella Was a Diver and She Was Always Down”
Interpol showed their teeth at every turn during their performance, coming to the verge of animalistic explosion but staying slightly subdued. The best characteristic of the music is their restraint – their ability to light a fuse, let it get within inches of the powder keg before extinguishing it and lighting a new one somewhere else. Tonight, the fuse came closer than ever as nearly Baltimore burned inside-out by one the most cherished live bands in the world today.

Interpol's Official Website www.interpolny.com
Matador Records Site vww.matador.com

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight www.earlash.com

Album Review | The Soundtrack of Our Lives : Origin Vol. I (2005, Republic/ Universal)

2005-03-28T20:20:00.000-08:00

Bands from Sweden have earned a deserved reputation in the years after the garage explosion. M aking firm declarations on their own questionable greatness and acting pompous have become the calling card of a collective genre as much as dying on their second album. While the Soundtrack of Our Lives can be just as guilty as some for playing by these rules, they have made themselves Sweden’s most fascinating acts. They have transcended the vogue and become a respected act musically, all the while doing so with a devout political agenda. On their forth album, the group (assembled from former parts of Union Carbide Productions) has taken their psychadelia-meets-arena rock another step forward, extending their sound and poise.

On 2002’s Behind the Music, the group produced some of the most memorable rock songs (Sister Surround”) and political anthems (“Independent Luxury”, “21st Century Rip-Off”) rooted in the trade protests and riots in their capitol of Gothenburg in the years around the record’s creation. The defiant tone of the record seemed to foreshadow a tongue-lashing for the Bush administration on the next record. The album does confront the uninvited rule in America, but the delivery is carried with less of the furious acting out but the acerbic shrewdness in the lyrics is sharper than ever.

Opener “Believe I’ve Found” is a critical observation of modern culture as singer/ lyricist Ebbott Lundberg tiredly declares “I believe I’ve found/ a better way to satisfy your kind”. An undoubtedly harsh statement, but meaning is a bit shrouded after opening lyrics hint to a greater loss of family, art and individuality. Lundberg and the band have championed themselves on being righteous soldiers in the war against complete control, fighting for freedoms in art, trade and other causes. It’s that battle and the underlying tone of secret warring that makes their music so intriguing.

Both “Transcendental Suicide” and “Royal Explosion (Part II)” are forceful Who’s Next-style anthems of frustration and rebellion. They each assail the evident profit of Bush Act II, and make it know that half-a-world away, the ripples of his profiteering agenda are already delivering their consequence. “Big Time” takes it a step further name-checking stem cells, news tampering, and the penetrating coupling of “so what’s the occupation/ what’s your dedication”. Origin Volume I’s critical tour de force is U.S. bonus track “World Bank”, which heavy handedly attacks the conquering financial organization with “I’m a link in a chain/ an everlasting chain”. In his words, Lundberg always maintains a fair and just sense of where the citizen fits in the scheme of capitalism and where they actually deserve to be.

Even if listeners want nothing to do with the world politics of aging Swedes, their magnetism and big riffs draws attention. The dueling guitarists Mattias Barjed and Ian Person and the rhythm of Kalle Jerneholm (bass) and Fredrik Sandsten (drum) have a stadium-honed sound with enough unique melodies to hypnotize a battalion of freedom fighters. The practiced showmanship of Lundberg is remarkable, considering that breathy vocal scratch is emanating from a prancing 300 lb. man. His voice is one of rocks most dynamic, going from howl (“Age of No Reply”) to swoon (on the Jane Birkin accompanied “Midnight Children”) effortlessly and purposely.

The Soundtrack of Our Lives has been one of the most authentic rock groups for over 12 years. Their politics have been as ham fisted as their influences, but their righteousness and sense of responsibility in fame aligns them as the successor to the Clash’s role of rock’s political conscience. The progressive but accessible guitar sound promotes their statement perfectly in a “spoonful of sugar” kind of relationship. Origin Volume I is a burning reassessment of values and integrity for the world and a protest record to rival “American Idiot” in message and easily eclipses it in musicianship.

Buy the album here

The Soundtrack of Our Lives' Official Website www.thesoundtrackofourlives.net
Universal Records Website www.universalrecords.com

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight

sAlbum Review | Ash : Meltdown (US - 2005, Record Collection)

2005-03-25T00:21:00.001-08:00

Inexplicably, American record labels have never been to keen to Ash. Their first five records have been hits in Europe, Japan and Australia, yet have still failed to break stateside. Formulating a near-copyrighted sound of power chords, blissful hooks and excitable melody, any unsuspecting listener could fall victim easily to their abundant charms. Transmitted through a million-watts of charisma during vibrant live shows and support tours with everyone from Coldplay to Foo Fighters, the band has become one of rocks best known “unknown” acts. The indifference of the American record industry now finds Meltdown released a year after it’s street date everywhere else on the planet.

Their turn towards the dark side is blood-thick, if the cover of Meltdown is any indication. However it is not. The fact that it is a reproduction of a sleeve-length Phoenix tattoo now sported by Wheeler himself doesn’t do much. The bass lines of Mark Hamilton still wind through every second of their songs, but the looser thump seems attributed to Weezer-alum Matt Sharp (who receives considerable liner note-credit). Rick McMurray has always had the rambunctious spirit of either a speed-freak or a child in his drumming, and this record is no exception. Playing two or more beats where one would be sufficient, his work could easily serve as the hardest element on this “hard” record.

On her third official record with Ash, guitarist/ femme fatale Charlotte Hatherley has gotten Wheeler’s guitar style matched, combining the force of the riffs that were already a powerful entity. Though Wheeler still bangs out most of the solos live on his Flying V, Hatherley’s chops are honed enough for her to keep up with (if not better) this boys club. The theory is proven on U.K. single “Renegade Cavalcade” as the charging twin riff propels as much as the gravity defying chorus.

The title track also hints to a Motorhead cover only to fall back into form with effects and an Earth-rattling chorus. “Clones” is another of several singles that populate a record full of potentials, raging and sugary at once with addictive properties crammed to the front. While some songs have a crunchy, tooth-spitting lead, they’re still the sum of Wheeler’s endearing craft. The harder edge is just trim on the ascendant chorus and the slippery slope of his hooks, which suck attention towards them. Resistance is futile.

With all the posturing as a harder act, Ash remind of children wearing their parents clothing. This record holds very subtle if not imagined sinister elements. This is still the same old wonderful Ash: neither dumb nor challenging. Three chords to a chorus and words that flow sweetly into a chorus that any arena could sing back to them. Regardless of what’s on the outside, a band with gifts as gratifying as Ash cannot change under their wrapping. Ash’s identity is defined by their idyllic pop-rock and Meltdown’s buzzsaw image can’t change it.

Buy this album here
Ash's Official Website www.ash-official.com
Record Collection site http://www.recordcollectionmusic.com

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight www.earlash.com

Live Review | The Soundtrack of Our Lives at 9:30, Washington, D.C. March 21, 2005

2005-03-25T00:21:00.000-08:00

“Johnny Thunders!”
“Well. Yes. He is buried in Sweden. Yes… too much baseball for him.”

Sweden’s The Soundtrack of Our Lives have become a perfected rock n’ roll animal over the last eight years, transfixed by the thumping sound of the Who and Pink Floyd’s psychadelia. They all five leap on stage in the darkness and take directly to “Believe I’ve Found”, the leading track on their new album Origin Volume I. The bouncy melody propels inflammatory words across a three-quarters filled room swaying to the bass rhythm of Kalle Jerneholm and the strums of Mattias Barjed. During this time, singer Ebbot Lundberg cast a weary eye over nearly every face, as he keeps time with a tambourine held gently beside his right ear. It seems a scrutinizing kick off (more on the performer’s side, than the audience’s), but the power of the message and the bands ability to convey don’t stop at music.

As the opener fades, Lundberg begins to stomp as Barjed and second guitarist Ian Person scratch into the bass drumming of Fredrik Sandsten. “Infra Riot” opened 2002’s Behind the Music and it symbolizes vigorous pace the show will maintain. Barjed and Person perform like a matched pair of Townshend and Richards clones. The wild and flailing Barjed does windmills and jumping splits whenever the music permits him, as Person is the moody antithesis. He’s no less enjoying the moment, but his antics are calm and cool strumming his low-slung guitar, his notes highlighting the quiet opening to “Transcendental Suicide”.

The hushed psych moments are washed out when the low end rattles its way in. Lundberg dances about the stage like a circus bear on a ball, shifting his ample belly to the melody. Between songs Lundberg discusses the inspiration of Washington, D.C. on the music they make. Almost ashamedly, he looks across the faces and says something along the lines of “some don’t understand the impact this city has everywhere else” as the band builds into “Broken Imaginary Time”. If purposeful, it could be a statement unmatched by anything said or done all night (with the exception of excluding the setlist-printed closer “21st Century Rip-Off” from the live set). The inevitable performance of single “Big Time” comes late and is a raging assessment of the band’s deep political convictions with music as furious as the confrontational lyrics built upon it. The smell of sweat leather and denim emanates from the stage as Person makes his second of three blazer changes.

They follow the powerful single with the marching “Mother One Track Mind” and their best known stateside hit “Sister Surround”, one of the widest ranging rock songs written in the new decade. The band wisely maintains tempo as long as possible. By this time every face in the crowd is locked on Lundberg as he mocks the familiar and celebrated guitar poses of Barjed, yet is the first to offer praise for a brilliant solo. The cosmic Swede demands and commands attention from the crowd, even if the spotlight flashes and flickers among he and his cohorts, each stealing it away from moment to moment.

Their albums hint of a colossal power and poise that could fill the universe with big riffs and socially conscious words (and easily a three-quarter-filled nightclub on frozen Monday night). With members in the mid-40s, the group hardly seems to be working on a timetable, plying their brilliantly crafted rock on their own pace. With the Soundtrack of Our Lives human virtue and truth seems to be a priority, daring Americans to realize the truth outside their doors to the tune of perfected arena rock.

Album Review | Maximo Park : A Certain Trigger (2005, Warp)

2005-03-23T00:20:00.000-08:00

As dozens of bands surge out of the United Kingdom with influence from Joy Division, Buzzcocks, the Jam and Pulp, finding an identity is going to become more of a commodity than the tight, coordinated rhythms and angular guitar work. Front men will all share either the sullen, spasm of Ian Curtis, the drunken swagger of Mark E. Smith or the borderline pomposity of Jarvis Cocker. With the demos piling and the cash coming in on a genre that has nearly tapped itself out at infancy, deciding exactly where Maximo Park fit in is going to be more and more difficult.

The lyrics of Paul Smith and, more importantly, how he delivers them separate this Newcastle-Upon-Tyne five-piece from their growing contemporaries. His rapid-fire multi-syllabic bursts are anything but robotic, as he exudes emotion in every breath. Whether speaking of misplaced affections (“Kiss You Better”) and near-obsessive analysis of social class (“Signal and Sign ”), his charm carries to his target. Imagery of him stomping through “Now I’m All Over the Shop” declaring to everyone how he knows what is best can be almost provoking in it’s confidence.

The shuffling pluck of Duncan Lloyd’s guitar work seems standard substance for the style they at first appear to fit, and then his diverse abilities shine through. Thusly songs like “Going Missing” grow around Smith’s words and rise from instrumental repetition into bold, blissful pop. The bass and drum of Archis Tiku and Tom English applies a rhythm so oppressively exact to one another that Smith, Lloyd and Lukas Wooller’s keys are given ample room maneuver their own elements.

“Signal and Sign” rings like an urgent single with arresting hooks and guitar breaks working well over a loosened rhythm. Bravado and sonic excess shove “Graffiti” into willing skulls to rescind into a saunter exposing a once bored, frustrated life. The electronic boom-bip of “Acrobat” drifts over a much more relaxed tempo, with remote church organs balancing Smith’s spoken couplets into a passionate, remorseful chorus bringing focus to heartache. His ability to blend scathing social commentaries with self-consciousness and still maintain his audacious streak makes the group as a whole more intriguing.

Maximo Park is intelligent enough to know that accessibility and melody will carry them across more ears than pseudo-artistic distraction. When their cocksure leader snaps “I’ve met so many people who look the same; most were forgotten but you still remain” opening “The Coast is Always Changing”, realization seeps in that even Maximo Park knows that the scenery is littered with the analogous. Unfortunately, their keen observation and fearless admittance sets them apart only half as much as their addictively neurotic debut does.

Maximo Park's Official Website www.maximopark.com
Warp Records www.warprecords.com

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight

Live Review | The Bravery at Black Cat, Washington, D.C. March 10, 2005

2005-03-16T11:05:00.001-08:00

Somewhere in Northwest DC, as the fashionable line the sidewalk to the end of the block, the Bravery prepare in a smoky dressing room. With empty Stella Artois and hair-product bottles strewn about, the dressing room isn't the tattered postcard of rock degradation expected for these synth-punk upstarts. The confessed glamour whores prepare for each show like it were their last, and occasionally provide a dangerous setting that could fulfill that promise. Tonight they are in the unenviable spot of closing their co-headlining tour with British rock mammoth Ash, which is even more treacherous when the Bravery are being deemed the next "next big thing" by the world's music press. The mood backstage is cordial but tense as the band certainly understands that proving their wares tonight is more important than on nights when they are the support act. Failure could prove costly for a band just breaking in despite the praise, and keeping up is the bare-minimum expectation. However this Manhattan five-piece has not cast their reputation on mailing it in.

Officially a band for only 18 months, they have thus far acquired a ton of ink in their favor, but not everyone has seen what all the fuss is about. Sam Endicott takes the stage first with his supremely coiffed hair taking the lead. Looking something like Morrissey and Glen Danzig in a dark kaleidoscope, the singer's obscene confidence in print seems tempered on stage by a withered shyness. Followed by John Conway on keys, Mike H. on bass, and drummer Anthony Burulcich, Endicott sways and shivers in the waves of guitarist Michael Zakarin into "Swollen Summer." Climbing on a shredding guitar lead, bouncing bass and high-hat rhythms, the song opens perfectly and shows savvy in keeping the groove seamless from Ash's set.

Screeching like an orgasmic pre-pubescent on the verge, Endicott turns the playfully deprecating lyrics of "Public Service Announcement" into a cutting admission of arrogance. A synth framework is cast by Conway on "No Brakes," and he spends the remaining minutes or so completing a six of Stella, carefully monitoring the Powerbook keeping track of his beats. Though the synthesized buzz dominates their sound, the band is more reliant on the nimble craftsmanship of Burulcich's drumming and the bass rhythms of Mike H. to propel the songs. Endicott shows a raw vulnerability that serves to make him more charismatic to the crowd, as he clutches himself, stretches his coat, then leans torso-deep into the front rows.

The band opens up the floodgates with "Fearless" with sneering lyrics, harder bass, and throttling guitar work interweaving with the electrified melodies. The singer becomes more and more destructive as the left-handed Zakarin tears into the razor-sharp solo. Stomping and crying, the temper tantrum runs directly into the deafening intro of "Unconditional." Now at breakneck pace, the group trembles together into the song's thunderous break that rattles the room with united noise. "An Honest Mistake" takes the bliss further into frenzy as the group spasms and seduces the crowd. The quietest moments are now magnified over and over as the band's full focus turns to impressing the next batch of eager victims.

Successfully intermingling the melodic and hypnotic quality of techno with the punk thrust makes even their mid-tempo outings seem like violent assaults on the senses, and both attractive and undeniable. The dirty, wasted life of heavy drinking, drugging, and screwing has made the Bravery notorious, but the songs that they play in between and the room after room that they conquer, prove that all the propaganda may come deeply rooted in truth.

all photos copyright 2005 Rob Macy/ spitfirepress limited

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight

www.thebravery.com

A special thanks to Jonny Kaps, Ashley Purdum (+1 Music), Kara Tutunjian (Earlash), Patrick Guerin (Legg Mason) and Amy Eroh (Miles & Stockbridge) for their help.

Gods of Shot and Friends of the Family...

2005-03-14T23:50:00.000-08:00

I fell into being a photographer when an oblivious managing editor gave me a camera and a paycheck to shoot live stock auctions and Interstate bloodbaths in 2001. After covering 911 from the Sears' electronics department and dating a gorgeous graphic artist with no personality, I was fired. After writing professionally, I was given a camera from a pair of (in)famous cousins and sneaking it into shows to suppliment my writing. Andrew Kendall is the best music photographer in business today, and his shots in NME are the only thing that keeps me buying the rag every week. Here's two reasons why Andrew is God to music photographers......

Check out Andrew's body of work and bask in awe to the returning majesty of British rock by The Ordinary Boys, The Libertines, babyshambles, Bloc Party, Kaiser Chiefs, The Killers and more. It is safe to say that once Andrew Kendall has taken your picture, you're somebody.
Support local artists:

Battersea - Baltimore's moody atmosphericisists with a little baby fat to work off in their second year as a band. Brilliant group despite their age, they have limitless potential.

Forever Valentines: Cover playing side project from country loving anglophiles. Quiet and unassuming, their taste knows no bounds.

Album Review | Long-View: Mercury (2005, Columbia)

2005-03-14T23:37:00.001-08:00

Once upon a time, George Best and the United were the biggest thing in Manchester. Little Mancunian boys didn’t idolize cowboys, soldiers or astronauts like American children - to a Manchester lad, Best was ace. Then the music blitz hit the area and, behind the inspirational verve of The Smiths, Joy Division and The Buzzcocks, the kids found their idols on a pub stage more than the pitch. Undoubtedly, the sounds of those bands urged Rob McVey, Doug Morch, Aidan Banks and Matt Dabbs to pick up a microphone, guitar, bass and drum stick, respectively. How much indebted to them they are on Mercury, is questionable.

First making blips on the music radar around 2002, festival goers and critics alike swore Long-View were destined great things. After a string of EPs and singles, they finally have released Mercury stateside behind the weight of Columbia Records vast budget. They seem to be just what the major labels ordered, blending their dreary Northern heritage with some Americanized guitar effects and colossal arrangements. The tame and practiced sound is anything but the daring glimpses given in either of those arenas.

Long-View manages to pull some bright moments out of this predictable package, most of which are hinged on McVey’s Morrissey-adoring vocals and the occasional Gospel-tinged backing choirs. Aside from that, their best moments were already eclipsed by Idlewild albums ago. Lyrically, they have been beaten by Roddy Womble and company long before they even arrived. The insipid “Falling For You” is a prime example, bearing all the tepid emotion of a junior high school farewell.

Uplifting chorus’ dominate each of the twelve tracks, as their rocketing momentum lift the songs in the classic Brit Pop fashion (“Can’t Explain”). The dense, unrestrained strings and multiple guitar tracks can be distracting, especially when the melody collapses under the weight of the noise. Any hopes of this band reviving the faded Britpop scene ruined by Embrace, they reduce themselves to American-influenced guitar rock (“When You Sleep”). Their reliance on these aural safety nets immediately reduce their individuality and makes them seem pompous and uninspired.

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight

Long-View Official Site

Album Review | Ocean Colour Scene : A Hyperactive Workout for the Flying Squad (2005, Sanctuary)

2005-03-14T23:26:00.000-08:00

In the opening scenes of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Jason Statham tries slyly to sell pilfered goods on a London street corner. As his card playing partner alerts them of the on-coming law, a blistering single note comes on, building into a riff that grows faster as they flee for their freedom. This perfected soundtrack placement of Marchin’ Already’s “Hundred Mile High City” is the only state-side glimpse into the phenomena of Ocean Colour Scene, a band once deemed as the second-coming of rock n’ roll in the United Kingdom.

After following the pre-Parklife path of shuffling dance pop, the group changed their sound and turned heads with 1996’s Moseley Shoals. Mentioned in the same breath as Oasis and Stereophonics (usually in that order), they were more traditionalist than their headline-grabbing contemporaries and were deemed heirs to the mod throne. On their seventh studio album, the Birmingham group (a trio after the departure of founding bassist Damon Minchella early last year) has proved them England’s most consistently splendid (if not most persistent) rock group.

Guitarist Steve Craddock has a reputation as an inventive arranger, as well as one of the world’s finest guitarists. His notoriously meticulous recording habit is the backbone of the group’s sound. Kicking off with a potent Craddock riff, Hyperactive…” shows the signs of the intelligent, focused fury of their early releases most acerbic and catchiest moments. Simon Fowler’s resonant vocals have always walked a fine line between stylistic traits. On “Move Things Over”, he stretches his street urchin drawl into velvet soul honed to a polished stadium glow. Mod icon Paul Weller’s harmony and guitar work blends effortlessly with Folwer and Craddock on “Waving Not Drowning”, as Jools Holland’s nimble piano dances around Oscar Harrison’s steadfast beats.

With violin, banjo and piano bouncing around the inspirationally debauched lyrics, “This Day Should Last Forever” belongs beside The Faces “Ooh La La” on a pub crawl mix tape. The drinking turns to dancehall on “God’s World”, Craddock’s virtuosity carries fragmented funk bass lines over Fowler leading a choir through the verses.

Ocean Colour Scene’s ability to intermingle classic soul, psychadelia and funk with Beatle and Small Faces-derived melody makes them one of the Britain’s most accomplished groups based solely upon repertoire. The volatile shift of interest in the U.K. musical climate has seen them bounce from label to label, despite chart and sales success. With another genuine and impressive record confirming their talents, Ocean Colour Scene is absolutely blissful in their ignorance of trends and passing fancy.

Reviewed for Earlash Music Sight

Ocean Colour Scene Official Site

Album Review | British Sea Power : Open Season (2005, Rough Trade)

2005-02-24T00:26:00.000-08:00

In the adverse, desolate world of late-70s Manchester, youth, so desperate for release and a voice to validate doomed futures, could be triggered into riotous meltdown at any moment. Ian Curtis and company choked their strident, angular tone and bleak expressionism down the throat of the blissful mass, all convulsing and undulating to the speed-fueled gloom. There was a profound impact on the quarry, and (arguably) those who got the news second-hand. The impression (coupled with the bands murky demise at the end of a rope) was so lasting that Joy Division is now legend. Every nuance and unheard inflection in the Joy Division catalogue is ripe for comparison to a thousand bands that may or may not idolize them.
However, British Sea Power does not sound as much like Joy Division (or Echo and the Bunnymen) as much as people would hope to validate these comparisons. Elements of the Brighton quintets’ debut album were so readily compared that their own identity was difficult to decipher. If they sound like angular post-punk with dark, sighed words crashing over swift beats, then clearly they are a tribute act. Nothing sounds like anything if it doesn’t sound like someone else.
The masses coming to backstreet clubs seeking the shutter and spasm under eyeliner smearing tears easily soiled themselves when a taxidermied owl was perched over a Vox Pathfinder. As Hamilton (drums), Noble (guitar), Wood (bass), Eamon (keys) and Yan (voice) come on stage, decked out in military surplus circa 1911, their sharpened Kaiser’s helmets twinkling in the spotlight, the pedestrians could sweep their Clove ashes with their floor dropped tongues. Then music separated them from the comparisons twice as hard as the attire did.
On their second full-length, those frightened of British Sea Power’s eccentricities may relax in the discovery that the group has matured into one of the last great Brit Pop bands. Still spastic, angular, and jagged, the group has now adjoined their own trademark literate voice with a echo of an honestly aged charm.
Recorded by Spiritualized colleague Mads Bjerke, Open Season rockets off into the first single “It Ended on an Oily Stage” with Noble’s notoriously sharp guitar melody defining the song. After the initial assault, the music scales down into Yan’s breathy delivery and obscure poetry references enveloping his idiosyncratic love. The calmed, but no less active guitars on “How Will I Ever Find My Way Home?” accompany the sighs back to a floating arrangement embodying this album’s more restrained mood. “Like a Honeycomb” creates an oceanic rolling tune of ornamental whistles like breezes across the melancholy vocals. As the song lofts into the long-awaited, but hardly-climaxing crescendo, distant layers of guitar and tom-tom throbs signal the end. “Please Stand Up” is brilliantly obvious and a clear choice for the next single. Carried on dense strings, nearly burying the lush guitars, the song takes a turn into anthemic territory, proving the band’s abilities as musicians, writers and dramatists.
This is British Sea Power’s fulfillment on their artistic potential, proving them as heirs to a honored British rock throne, all but abandoned for synths and suits and embarrassing irony stunts. With greater structure in production, the band displays a bit less of their spectacular oddness, but all of their charm on a sophomore effort more accessible in songcraft. Though the current of British Sea Power has changed, they have used their absurdity with and displayed exhilarating, broader horizons on their best record yet.

Buy the album here (release date 04.05.05)

British Sea Power Official Site http://britishseapower.co.uk
Rough Trade Records Official Site http://www.roughtraderecords.com

Review for Earlash Music Sight

Album Review | Spoon : Gimme Fiction (2005, Merge)

2005-02-21T21:10:00.000-08:00

Britt Daniels' music has been a study of careful restraint, coupled with a peaked anticipation in every note. It was not until A Series of Sneaks was released in the wake of being dropped by Elektra, that Daniels became a darling with the indie crowd. Taking the indie-paved road of endless touring and releasing 7-inches, singles and split EPs, followed with brilliant records, his every movement became eagerly awaited by both followers and critics. A decade years into careers their, Daniels and his long-time musical cohort Jim Eno (drums) release their fifth full-length, on the surging on the pressure of their biggest critical praise yet.

On Gimme Fiction, Daniels' graveled, nasal croon takes the knowing stride of an aged guide touring a foreign, fading life. His voice is as dryly soulful as indie rock gets, shaming his contemporaries. "I Turned My Camera On" is a metronomic timebomb tick tuned to blue-eyed soul as Daniels channels the smoothest of white boy grooves. Cooing harmonies and scratching guitars layer over bass heavy piano rhythms on "My Mathematical Mind", as Daniels' driving lyrical proclamation is eventually overcome by unrestrained cymbal work washing the eardrums.

Spoon has shown over the last several records a much more dense concept of their own music, incorporating more instrumentation into their repertoire. 2002's Kill the Moonlight took them in off in a different path from their prior record (2001's Girls Can Tell) with a quieter, more sparse sound combined with more emphasis on lush key arrangements around Daniels' willowy wail. On this record they seem to combine this with the pounding, focused release of Girls Can Tell, still maintaining the starkness and distance that gives their much it's depth.

Proving the formula is "Delicate Place", which floats with a Byrds-ian shimmer and spasms with the occasional Neil Young-reminding, choked guitar freak-out. The trippy monotonal dirge of "Was It You" interweaves keys, bass and synth pulses until thunder and lightning lead seamlessly into the strumming melody of "They Never Got You". The song then fades the record out as a singular cello vibe expands into a wide, vibrantly arrangement that apexes downward into shuffled hand claps.

With all eyes and ears focused on Daniels and company, they have used the opportunity well. Gimme Fiction is the record that will unite the sides of Spoon as well as their supporters, possibly making them one of the brightest forces in independant music. Only time will tell if all the attention can help the band maintain their consistency from one record to the next.

Spoon's Official Website www.spoontheband.com
Merge Records Website www.mergerecords.com/

Reviewed for www.earlash.com

What Would John (Davis) Do?

2005-01-30T13:06:00.000-08:00

Superdrag blossomed from the mid-90’s Knoxville band The Used (now The Used-To-Be, at the behest of Bert McCracken’s lawyers). Preparing solo material, John Davis concentrated on his deeper influences (classic British rock and shoegazer) and became a talented multi-instrumentalist somewhere along the way.

With Used members (former singer Tom Pappas, now on bass; Brandon Fisher still on guitar and Don Coffey, Jr. debuting on drums) touring behind Davis, the rearranged instrumentation proved a more cohesive fit and newly christened Superdrag became a serious label prospect on the might of their touring and Darla Records The Fabulous 8-Track Sounds of Superdrag, in 1995.

Elektra records won the bidding war and sent the boys to work with Fort Apache’s Tim O’Heir. Wrapping recording sessions in Boston, New York, and Memphis, Regretfully Yours was released in the summer of 1996 and the first single “Sucked Out” hit with the label’s full force. The ultra-cynical pop song made Davis sound like a seasoned veteran of popular commercial routine, yearning to create pop music with truth and artistic. MTV snagged the video for their Buzz Bin concept, and “Sucked Out” gained momentum. The song sat a third of the way through a finely honed power-pop testimonial, alongside the adjoined epic first and second tracks “Slot Machine” and “Phaser” and the second single “Destination Ursa Major”. Ringing tones, pounding rhythms, major-minor progressions and Davis’ often contemptuous lyrical commentaries showed the record was a further shot into the future than most of it’s alternative and grunge contemporaries.

The second record on Elektra, Head Trip in Every Key was an unrestrained experiment into breathtakingly retro-futuristic composition with Davis’ sweet southern drawl carrying lyrics of deeper optimism. Taking incongruous inspirations (eastern music and religion) the record allowed the band to turn a page in their history while still staying close to their favored formula (“Hellbent”, “Bankrupt Vibration”). Offerings like the piano-led “Amphetamine” were not as expected, with slick production, a distractingly dense Wall of Sound-style arrangement, tidal rhythms and Fisher’s brilliantly sparse guitar buffeting Davis’ ballad of young love. This record stood on it’s own pure music merit more than it relied on production value and gloss. John Davis had proven himself a genius in the making (playing guitar, piano, organ, mellotron, sitar, theremin and singing), but as the lead single “Do the Vampire” failed to score a hit, Elektra’s interest waned.

The “one-hit wonder” tag loomed over the band as Elektra diverted their budget into other interests and the band was forced to rely on their touring reputation to make ends meet. After releasing an odds n’ sods collection under their own steam, Elektra resigned them to a 2-record deal. The partnership soon faded as the band grew tired of the commercial demands the split from the pressuring label.

The split lead the band through tough times as Pappas quit and Davis’ drinking became more of a personal problem in the wake of his grandfather’s death. Settling back in Knoxville and adding local hero Sam Powers in Pappas’ place, the group went to work on In the Valley of the Dying Stars almost immediately after the departure of Elektra and Pappas.

Released in 2000 on the Arena Rock Recording Company, the record flaunted the return of the scornful sound in Davis’ lyrics. It was a marked departure from the sprawling scenery of the
last record, and a more round-trip sound of a band returning to their basic element. The doubting introspection of “Keep It Close To Me” and “Gimme Animosity” make side one a harsh statement about their brush with stardom. The b-side jumps with the sanguinity of “Bright Pavilions” but the roaring confrontation of “Some Kinda Tragedy” and “In the Valley of the Dying Stars” showcase a ceaseless desire to lash out at the commercialism that teased them with interest. The lyrics throughout are caustic and biting, damning fame and demanding compensation for honesty and truth in art, despite the eruptive moments of self-doubt. Davis again had the last laugh as “Unprepared”, a majestic piano dirge, eloquently eulogizing his grandfather and displayed the bitter prince was still the same endless source of both brilliance and self-actualized genius - with or without a major label’s grooming. John Davis was everything his own talents made him and nothing more.

Somewhere during this time, Davis came to a meditative stage, settled down and curbed his reliance on alcohol. With college radio on the band’s side and their relentless touring regiment spreading their reputation, Davis and company, some now as father’s, returned to the studio more focused than ever. Shifting songwriting influences as much towards Henley & Frey as Lennon & McCartney, Brian Wilson and Bob Mould, Last Call for Vitriol is the most familial effort in the Superdrag catalog. On record Davis invites Powers, Coffey and new guitarist Mic Harrison into songwriting duties for the first time. He yields to Powers altogether on tunes “Remain Yr Strange” and “Stu”, two of the album’s finer moments. Even on a duet with former drinking/ touring partner and Guided By Voices kingpin, Bob Pollard (“Baby Goes to Eleven”) the group seemed as united as the charm laden harmonies through the seconds second half. Davis himself faced his reckless road life and alcoholism on tracks like “The Staggering Genius” and “Feeling Like I Do” with dignity and courage.

Accepting his slight commercial success despite his fan base, critical adoration and abilities, as well as regulating his thirst for booze, Davis again saw his interests changing towards his higher power. He found his missing peace in the Baptist lifestyle rooted within his Tennessee upbringing. This change of living saw Davis’ grow apart from Superdrag, much like he had sought growth away from The Used, with Davis commenting “My heart just wasn’t in it anymore.” The songs of his youth and malcontent have become milestones on a journey of self-discovery and no longer hold relevance in his reformed religious life. The songs cut from this new cloth still ring with the intensity and focus of Superdrag’s grittiest moments, but lyrically demonstrate his praise and reverence towards his god. With songs titles like “Jesus Gonna Build Me a Home” holding such heavy handed and literal religious meaning, expectations that Davis was recoding sermonizing religious propaganda came almost instantly. However, Davis has found his new purpose and artistic freedom as an inspiration, much like his idol John Lennon did when he parted ways with The Beatles. The new material echoes Lennon (“Have Mercy”), Brian Wilson (“Me and My Girl”) and more and more gospel tinges reminiscent of The Band (“Lay Your Burden Down”), reflecting his maturing sensibilities.

The specter of religion in music frightens people, especially if they don’t subscribe to the same form as the artist. With Davis’ new material, the preachy aspects are easy–going. These are stories of his personal philosophies and his relationship with his god. These stories are no more or less relevant to the listener than anything he had done during his years in Superdrag. More importantly, the fine craft of his music is such that he could sing the phone book you’d be equally charmed. John Davis isn’t looking to reform the world, just show how the world has reformed him.

Check out John Davis' solo recordings, including the fiery "Have Mercy" and a number of others at the official Superdrag website.

You will find "I Guess It's American" more Superdrag mp3s (including covers of Wave of Mutulation and yes, Freebird at Rocking Van, a Superdrag authorized fan site.

John Davis' solo material, including "Jesus Goanna Build Me a Home" , downloaded on his web site.

Thee Shams Come Down Again

2005-01-17T22:21:00.000-08:00

photo by Bryce Parks & Mike Ironside

THEE SHAMS are the next delivery from Cincinatti's crop of garage bands chasing Detroit's crooked crown. Under the guidance of Ultra Suede studios and it's captain John Curley (and former Afghan Whigs' bassist) will release their third raw and smooth masterpiece. Calling Fat Possum Records home with godfathers like Solomon Burke, R.L. Burnside and Jon Spencer, these upstarts join The Black Keys and Entrance as the next great hope for pure rhythm and blues music. Their second helping Please Yourself was a breakthrough record, separating them from the pre-fab over-production stemming from the commercial garage boom.

Thee Shams website features MP3's of their first record, The Shams Take Off (way back before the second "e") and Please Yourself. You can also check out more top-notch live photography my Parks & Ironside as well as Jeanette Chervan there and buy the record.

...and The Home of The Bravery

2005-01-10T23:40:00.000-08:00

The Bravery at Fletcher's, Baltimore, MD 08.18.04

New Yorkers The Bravery have come from the white leather-belted scene that yielded the modern dance-rock revolution in the States, yet they take their punk esthetics far more deeply than many of their contemporaries. Their wild and harsh live shows draw them further away from comparison as they soar apart from the stammering new wave revival.

They recently toured alongside Ambulance LTD. and Elefant The five-piece hits the UK shores in March, opening for drama queens Hope of the States, where they are sure to garner all the breathless hyperboly on look alone.

The kind folks at Scenestars reported on them a while back (and lectured us on net-ethics) and offer you the MP3s. So does Ending East too (they're on the right), but offer no info.

Catch The Bravery on tour in the US & UK between now and then...

MON January 17, 2005 @ 51 Buckingham, Pomona
TUE January 18, 2005 @ Cinespace, Los Angeles
WED January 19, 2005 @ Spaceland, Los Angeles
FRI January 21, 2005 @ Cafe du Nord, San Francisco
SAT January 22, 2005 @ Sundance Festival "Music on Main Street", Park City
TUE January 25, 2005 @ TT the Bear's, Boston
THU January 27, 2005 @ Ironhorse, Northampton
FRI January 28, 2005 @ Fletcher's, Baltimore
SAT January 29, 2005 @ Northsix, Brooklyn
MON January 31, 2005 @ Black Cat, Washington DC
TUE February 08, 2005 @ Wedgewood Rooms, Portsmouth
WED February 09, 2005 @ Concorde 2, Brighton
SAT February 12, 2005 @ Zodiac, Oxford
MON February 14, 2005 @ Fleece & Firkin, Bristol
TUE February 15, 2005 @ Astoria, London
FRI February 18, 2005 @ Scotland Artschool, Glasgow
SUN February 20, 2005 @ Rescue Rooms, Nottingham
TUE February 22, 2005 @ Academy 3, Manchester
TUE February 22, 2005 @ Leeds U., Leeds
WED February 23, 2005 @ Academy 2, Birmingham
SAT February 26, 2005 @ Northumbria, Newcastle
TUE March 01, 2005 @ Koko, London

Buy THE BRAVERY's Unconditional EP Support Independant Music and Independant Music Stores

Support Independant Music Sites like SCENESTARS and ENDING EAST

"He offended me with his bad taste..."

2005-01-05T19:23:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Spitfirepress, the web blog dedicated to music, photography, opinion and personal interest. Enjoy the touring all of the above in ever-generous interest of educating the consuming world to the world according to the Spitfirepress. Keep in mind over the coming weeks (or month or years or however long this lasts) that the opinions expressed are limited to those contributing directly to the creating and preservation of this blog. Apologies to anyone offeneded by the points of view disclosed from here in.

In the future the blog community will be exposed to a vast group of new music artists and their mp3s,

as well as exclusive concert photography and reviews or both their shows and records. Points of interest in the

Baltimore-Washington area will also be covered to inform the public to keep the reader abreast of

musical activities throughout the area.

Currently, Spitfirepress is compiling the 3rd Annual Spitfirepress Music Awards
Last year's questionaire offered the following questions answered by a panel of music lovers from New York to San Francisco. The questions for last year were as follows:

Artist(s) of the Year

Your pick for the act that changed your life in 2004

10 Favorite Records of 2004

Your pcik of the 10 records released in 2004 you got the most spins out of

Honorable Mention(s)

Because you can never pick just 10

5 Favorite Singles of 2004

Which songs put a dent in your soul or the charts

Favorite Songwriter(s) of 2004

Who is "like right there with me and my feelings and shit"

Favorite EPs or Mini Albums of 2004

Some people are just scared of making a commitment

Your Favorite Reissue(s) of 2004

It was good but they made it better so you'll buy it again at a 50% mark-up

Favorite Album Art of 2004

So it's like art, but there's art on the outside too

Favorite Video of the Year 2004

Somewhere in between the daily 21 hrs. or Real World/ Road Rules Challenge

Biggest Disappointment of 2004

The bastards who tried to ruin everything

Your Favorite Discovery of 2004

What you found too soon or too late and now can't live without

The "Next Big Thing" of 2005

What's going to be "so last year" in 2006

The Biggest Loss to Music in 2004

Who died, quit, got fired, left or disappeared and made your life a little empty

Most Underrated Artist of 2004

Who's so underappreciated their mom's don't even know how good they are

Most Overrated Artist of 2004

Who got so much face time that you got sick

Worst Person in Music 2004

Who sold-out, gave in, got paid and lost touch

Spitfirepress will post the host's results within the week. Highlights from that and other submitted lists will be posted with information on the artist(s), mp3's and touring information.