30. Best Coast – Crazy For You (Wichita)

Let’s begin this review by saying that I think Bethany Cosentino writes fantastic pop songs, and that I like Best Coast’s big, fuzzy, shimmy double-guitar sound a whole lot, and that I was really, really looking forward to their debut LP. Let’s continue it by saying that despite all that, “Crazy For You” proved pretty difficult to love.

Best put it this way, I think: it’s very easy for a song-writer to listen to Jonathan Richman or Neil Young or whoever, and think, alright, I’m gonna write songs about exactly how I feel at this very minute - that’s honesty and integrity right there, and fuck ‘em if they don’t like it, etc. Until a few years ago, I’d certainly have told you that that’s what it’s all about. But the big crux is – not everybody is Jonathan Richman or Neil Young or whoever, and not everybody can make every emotional hiccup sound as urgent as they can. It’s a hard mark to hit, and if you miss it and lose the listener’s sympathy, well there’s only so far a good sound and a gift for melody can take you.

The opening ten seconds of every song on this record sounds brilliant, but, well, k’know… track one here, Bethany sings about some guy she wishes was her boyfriend and how she wishes he’d pay her more attention. Track two, she sings about how he’s a bit of a pain in the ass, but she can’t function without him cos he’s just so sweet. Track three, she’s bummed out cos he says they’re ‘just friends’. Track four she’s sitting around at home being miserable cos he’s not around, track five is a slow one and kinda ditto. Track six she’s sad cos he lied to her and never tells her how he feels, track seven she just sings “I miss you so much” again and again in this awful, pleading monotone, then it speeds up and gets cool for about thirty seconds. Track eight, she apologies for losing his favourite t-shirt, misses him and promises not to be “such a brat”. By track nine, you’re just thinking OH WOULD YOU JUST FORGET ABOUT HIM AND GET OVER IT FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, HE SOUNDS LIKE A JERK ANYHOW.

(Whilst we’re on the subject, it really bugged me that lots of critics picked out the verse that goes “I lost my job / I miss my mom / I wish my cat could talk” – I think that’s about the best and most likeable bit on the whole record! Cut her some slack guys, sheesh, this isn’t a fucking Joanna Newsom record.)

Obviously there is nothing wrong with people writing songs about their own feelings and experiences and yadda yadda yadda, but this kind of needy, unedited hand-wringing is just not very becoming on anyone. I guess the feelings expressed must be real, and I guess that’s sad, but five different mid-tempo three chord songs with variations on “I miss you, I need you” as their chorus line do not need to be heard all over the world and played in concert every night.

To repeat: I think Cosentino Is an amazing song-writer. I think “Something In The Way” and “Wish He Was You” and “When I’m With You” are some of the most sublime pop songs of the modern era. Every song here has the potential to join them, but a bad case of the grumps has gotten in the way, and that’s a drag.

You should maybe give this one a go anyway though if you liked the singles, cos it’s still a pretty good listen – it sounds a bit like Weezer with girls and no bass, I guess. It’s fuzzy and easy-going and whizzes by nicely. But it should have been spectacular.

Mp3> Goodbye


29. The Rantouls – In The Village of Rantoul (Chocolate Covered Records)

Every year needs one dumb-ass, ramshackle bubblegum album for use in drooling and grinning and dancing around in obsolete swimwear and over-sized sombreros. Hell, every year needs a pile of ‘em, but whatcha gonna do. For now The Rantouls will do nicely.

Often, modern ‘bubblegum’ of garage origin will be of a decidedly mixed vintage, wantonly throwing in power-pop and punk-pop and what-have-you. All well and good, but The Rantouls sail on purer waters, relentless in their pursuit of that Buddah Records / 1910 Fruitgum Company / Gentrys sweet spot. Three chord guitar/bass/drums music in which no melody is too obvious, no lyric too simplistic, no sugared up Bo Diddley/Archies steal too shameless. Music that steadfastly refuses to allow entry to even the tiniest, teeniest bit of ‘rock’ or its attendant macho moroseness.

This is a formula that can easily get ad-jingle throwaway, can seem like a joke even, when executed by those not fully committed to the material. The Rantouls though are believers, outlining their faith in no uncertain terms on this LP’s title track, during which they promise to take us across the seas to a land where “you just do what you want to do / the kids don’t go to school” and “everybody knows / you don’t even have to wear any clothes”. And take us there they do, in purely musical form at least, singing of chewin’ bubblegumbo, cuddling up, drinking from a little brown jug, flying in a hot air balloon and a little girl with an Indian drum. Ten songs, twenty minutes. That’s the way we like it! Chug-a-lug!

Mp3> Cuddle Up


28. Topaz Rags – Capricorn Born Again (Not Not Fun)

The second of a supremely unlikely THREE Pocahaunted side/successor projects to appear on this list, Topaz Rags use this LP to expand most satisfactorily on the strange and enticing sound explored on their earlier singles. Broadly speaking, this involves mixing the wordless vocal chants and head-nodding grooves of Poca-h with an approach that sees the vocals reduced to a almost subliminal role and favours acoustic(ish) instrumental interplay over psych/noise/blare, additionally incorporating with what I can only describe as a strong ‘LA noir’ vibe. Y’know: sinister late night jazz, Anger/Manson occult overtones, haunted Lynchian sprawl; candles burning in dark basement rooms as the sunshine blasts menacingly outside. All that stuff.

In the wrong hands – most hands - such preoccupations would lead to kitsch at best, idiocy at worst, but Topaz Rags are good at keeping things balanced, keeping their hand hidden, keeping their heads down. Carefully avoiding any big ‘signifier’ sounds, piano, bass and swooshed cymbals drive these songs forward with a gentle, trance-like sense of gradually evolving repetition, reminding me somewhat of Australian ambient/improv trio The Necks (a group whose work I like *a lot*, although I’ve somehow managed to go six years on this blog without mentioning the fact), if ever they were to start recording short, spooky songs with witchy vocialists instead of hour long sound-drifts. The simple, repeating figures here have a fiendish, comforting quality to them - like drifting off to sleep when you know you’ve got to keep watch to save your skin - and lengthy closer “Mind Power” in particular is a bone fide flesh-creeper. Occasional dub echoes or reverb gulches may intervene from time to time, but this is something quite, quite different from either the established psyche/noise scene that Not Not Fun and Pocahaunted grew out of, or from the more “witch house” friendly aesthetic of LA Vampires or Psychic Reality.

Working in a field in which the default methodology has long been to plug in all the pedals and let rip at length, the restraint and attention to detail evident in Topaz Rags’ music is extremely effective, the results beautifully chilling, exuding the kind of atmosphere you could cut with a knife. A ceremonial one, preferably. More than any other outfit around at the moment, this band are taking the whole psyche/drone/creep-core aesthetic to some strange and fascinating new places, and for that we must thank them.

Mp3> Sightings



27. Rolo Tomassi – Cosmology (Hassle Records)

Whilst I have endless admiration for Rolo Tomassi’s obvious talent and ambition, the impetuous, hand-break-turn nature of their earlier recordings frustrated me somewhat. This new one though (second LP proper, I think) finds them finally figuring out how to combine their disparate influences into something that sticks – namely a thunderous mixture of thrash metal, screamo post-hardcore and cosmic synth-prog excursions that sets out to knock you to the ground and keep you there for the duration, rather than having you scratching your head every thrity seconds, wondering what the fuck’s going on.

The quiet, ‘spacey’ passages have at last been convincingly incorporated into the metal-core song structures that surround them, and the clean vocal melodies work in tandem with the unhinged screaming. Hearing the two strains merge into a fully-formed, multi-limbed beast on album highlight “Kasia” is little short of awe-inspiring. ‘Big Metal Moment’ of the year for me I think!

Eva Spence’s vocals are, as ever, astonishing – perhaps the pre-eminent example of a woman fearlessly taking on the mantle of post-Napalm Death/Mayhem ‘vo-kills’, with visceral, spine-tingling and, uh, AWESOME results, her mid-song transitions from wounded werewolf to queen-of-Venus space diva are, uh, enough to break down my limited vocabulary for such things, so let’s just say MORE AWESOME.

Joe Nicholson’s guitars have riffs to spare, with a clean, treble-heavy thrash sound that cuts through like a guillotine, and James Spence’s keyboard odysseys (always the big divisive factor on earlier releases) really come into their own here too, full of otherworldy ‘Plant Caravan’ luminescence and sweeping analogue drama. So, uh, yeah – awesome.

In other news, this album was apparently produced by that Diplo guy. I dunno what he’s all about, or what he brought to the table, but he does an alright job if I’m any judge. The sound is perhaps a bit too clean and high-end for my liking, lacking the overdriven throb and chaotic murk I prefer my metal coated in, butat the same time it is hard to deny that it suits the band’s star-gazing, prog-damaged intent perfectly, and hey, if you’re gonna compete with the bad boys in the thrash stakes, you gotta keep it squeaky clean, subject to clear, digital daylight, however much grind and punk is still lurking in the mix. A few moments here and there take an unwise lurch in the direction of ‘emo’ (2003 definition), particularly when the guys sing, but that aside, this record is an avalanche of awesome and Rolo Tomassi’s best to date for my money.

Mp3> French Motel



26. The White Wires – WWII (Dirtnap)

Hey, you know what would have made the ‘Scott Pilgrim’ movie about ten times better? If they’d got Ottawa’s White Wires to do the music for it! Seriously, check out some their silly videos on youtube – they’ve got that Sex Bob-omb vibe down perfectly. They sound exactly like the music sounded in my head when I was reading the comic book. And they’re even from Canada for christssake.

Perfect, utilitarian heart on sleeve punk-power-pop reigns supreme across the entirety of this second album by ‘em, and it’s the kinda stuff I always love. The constant sugar rush of “WWII” may lead to hyperglycaemia or headaches if experienced in one sitting, but for four or five song bursts, played loud, it will get you where you’re going in double-time with a big idiot grin on yr face.

I love the bouncy, heart-on-sleeve energy, and the relentless 1-2, 1-1-2 drumming and chk-chk-chk-chk-chking hi-hats and the big, fuzzy bass sound and the breakin’ the speed limit barre chord guitar. I love how they have lots of songs that have the same name as more famous songs (“Let’s Go To The Beach”, “Roxanne”, “Be True To Your School”, “Bye Bye Baby”), but aren’t them. It’s great. It does its job. I love it. What more can I say? This is not exactly the kinda music that invites in-depth criticism – just another happy bulletin from the land where it’s always summer and “Rocket To Russia” is the king.

Anyway, long story short, I guess they got Beck instead cos they had money to waste and he cost more. What can ya say, life sucks.

Mp3> Be True To Your School (‘til You Get Kicked Out)

Labels: Best Coast, best of 2010, Rolo Tomassi, The Rantouls, Topaz Rags, White Wires

I Like All This Stuff! Part # 1

Let the reckless positivity commence!

The Rantouls

Man, now this is a band who embody everything I was going on about below! Will, Gavin and Lauren are The Rantouls. They purport to live in some place called Frontier Village, and they like to play total, unashamed bubblegum pop stupidity that grins in the direction of 1910 Fruitgum Company, The Gentrys and the like, but with overdriven guitars, primitive punk momentum and ‘ooh-ooh-oh’ surf harmonies thrown in to boot! Yes, like The Queers before them, The Rantouls satisfy my inner shitkicker by playing both kinds of music – Beach Boys AND Ramones! In fact, their debut EP opened with a tune called “Chugalug”, presumably in tribute to the Beach Boys frat-party classic of the same name, a song whose spirit has been quietly written out of history by the ‘Brian is a Genius’ gang, and noisily reinstated by anyone who’s ever felt the urge to get totally blitzed and lurch around dangerously to the strains of ‘Fun Fun Fun’. The second Rantouls single meanwhile leads off with “Little Green Hat”, perhaps the most mindless, annoying song I’ve ever heard… which has gotta be some kind of a recommendation, I guess. But it’s their latest 7” – the oddly titled “Songs of the Frontier Villagers” – that’s really blown my mind. Both songs on it, “Little Dune Buggy” and “Still 16”, are absolute winners – two minute definitions of wondrous, raucous summer fun with a wistful undertone of unfulfilled teenage fantasy that will speak to you like the very word of god… assuming that you want nothing more out of life than to be drunk, sixteen and riding around in a dune buggy. Homer Simpson would absolutely love this band. And you’d better believe that’s a recommendation. Yummy yummy yummy, The Rantouls have got love in their tummy, and they feel like loving you.

(Looks like that 7” is self-released and shows only, so if you don’t live in Frontier Village and don’t want to miss the goodness, you can pick up a sneaky d/l from here.)

http://www.myspace.com/therantouls


Graffiti Island

Currently rising to prominence amid the latest wave of East London trendsterisin’ that’s also given us Pens and Male Bonding, Graffiti Island haven’t been around long, but they’re a band who seem to have had their aesthetic and musical identity clearly mapped out from the word go. And where’s their wagon heading? Off the fucking map altogether, dude! For make no mistake - whilst their feet may be stuck in the Old Blue Last, in their minds Graffiti Island are busy living out some kind of monumentally twisted, early ‘80s shot-on-video Italian b-movie. Their songs – almost all clocking in the right side of two minutes – are glorious exercises in fucked up literalism, dealing frankly with such day-to-day concerns as cannibal orgies, demonic cats, treasure-filled caves and ‘bad potion’, never letting good taste or societal norms stand in their way. Musically, they express all this via a striking blend of psychotronic art-punk, fusing a Back From The Grave strain of treble-thrashing garage thunk to deathly, monster mash repetition, reverb-drenched barked/chanted vocals out of a rockabilly nightmare and queasy, Pere Ubu-ish electronic murk – brilliant, unhealthy, instinctive fun that’s not quite like anything I’ve heard before. Seriously: if you only buy one record this year with a scary dayglo caveman on the front, make it Graffiti Island’s debut 45, and, if your world is half as maladjusted as mine, these guys’ll rock it.

http://www.myspace.com/graffitiisland


Garbo’s Daughter

Is that the sound of party-starting, fizzbomb bubblegum grrl-punk I hear wafting over from Orlando, Florida? Why yes it is, and Garbo’s Daughter are responsible! Like the first Donnas record with a better sense of humour and some 60s melodic chops, like The Riff Randalls before they got all boring, like the B-Girls but not disappointingly crap, this gang are just TOO PERFECT. If Garbo’s Daughter were cast in the kind of dodgy slasher flick that Graffiti Island are probably all too familiar with, I bet they’d feed the knife-wielding loony to a crocodile in the first ten minutes and spend the rest of the movie cracking wise, eating Reeses Peanut Butter Cups and listening to awesome, obscure pop records. And it would be a GREAT MOVIE. Just look at their ‘influences’ box on the myspace – it’s the funniest thing I’ve read on the internet in weeks. I think they just threw all their rejected band name suggestions in there, mixed up with the real and semi-real pop cultural shout-outs (and if anyone wants to help me make Bangs Askew or Headlock & The Noogies a reality, my email’s at the top of the page). Doesn’t look like they’ve got any records out yet, but a tape – A TAPE – is due shortly. Good times ahead for anybody undertaking a short car journey. These girls are the greatest!

http://www.myspace.com/garbosdaughter

Smith Westerns

Yet more levels-in-the-red bubblegum, this time from some consummate Nobunny affiliates hailing from Chicago. The Smith Westerns are boys who like to sing about girls, and the cosmic pleasures of relations with, and frankly probably just daydreams about, them. They choose to deliver this to us via some wide-eyed Rubinoos power-pop, hard-riffin’ Chilton folk-punk and – best of all – a whole load of shiny, slinky, mid-period T. Rex groovin’. Smith Westerns self-titled album is a sickly sweet blast of warped, loved up glam-pop from start to finish, with stand-out cuts like ‘Be My Girl’ and ‘Girl in Love’ sounding like Visconti let a dragon drool all over the master tapes of demos from a much better, bizarro world version of ‘The Slider’. Aw, yeah, take me…, as our lord Marc was apt to put it pre-guitar solo.

http://www.myspace.com/smithwesterns



Ethical Debating Society

Anyone who would seek to belittle the achievements of Riot Grrl (with capitals) as a valid musical and cultural movement need only take a look at London’s Ethical Debating Society, comprising girls who were probably barely even born when Bikini Kill were still putting out records, but who take their inspiration straight from the fanzines and photocopied manifestos, from the more oblique, formally challenging British wing headed up by Huggy Bear and Skinned Teen, and from the hilarious, vicious polemics of Alison Wolfe. Even more so than contemporaries such as Pens and The Corey Orbison, EDS make their lack of musical ‘know-how’ into a direct political statement (see “A440” on the myspace), taking The Raincoats original refusal to submit to a male-defined language of rock band playing and pushing it further out into a no wave wilderness of yelling and tangled, wirey fury. Here’s hoping they’ve got a happy future in store for them, splitting opinion and terrifying audiences the world over. For better or worse, Everett True is already hip to them from his cabin in the outback, and he did a neat little interview here.

http://www.myspace.com/ethicaldebating

Labels: Ethical Debating Society, Garbos Daughter, graffiti island, I like, punk, Smith Westerns, The Rantouls