Record Review: Six Organs of Admittance - Luminous Night

via Ragged Words
Release Date: 17 Aug 2009
Record Label: Drag City
In Three Words: God Isn’t There
Ragged Rating: 4/5

By Daniel Greenwood

The indie- or modern-classical genre is flourishing. It’s been led in recent years by the prolific 12-string guitarist James Blackshaw, classical-drone connoisseurs Stars of the Lid, and the Gnostic frontier-folk of Six Organs of Admittance. Admittedly, James Blackshaw is the most rambunctious of the three, with an overt sensibility for the natural world clear in his song titles such as ‘Skylark Heralds Dawn’ and ‘The Elk with Jade Eyes’. Blackshaw borrows titles from literature for his songs, too, as on his latest The Glass Bead Game, care of Herman Hesse. Stars of the Lid are the seemingly softer touch, but their barely-there style of surface level string instrumentation is devastating in its sparseness, its disappearance and reappearance. Citing David Lynch’s Twin Peaks as inspiration, the Austin, TX pair of Brian McBride and Adam Wiltzie imbue a modern sense of despair that’s either hardly noticeable or completely life-affirming.

There’s a big whiff of philosophical intellectualism about these sorts of artists, and though Six Organs of Admittance fall closest in line with nineteenth-century transcendental American writers such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau, Ben Chasny – the man behind Six Organs – writes lyrics that, at first, completely belie Emerson’s pantheistic (in everyone and everything) kind of God. On ‘Ursa Minor’ Chasny sings: “Good people dying everywhere/ask if God is even there”. But perhaps it’s misguided to dive straight at Chasny’s lyrics, because the real joys of Luminous Night are the instrumental elements. Opener ‘Acteon’s Fall (Against the Hounds)’ has a tune to whistle with pride as you ride on horseback at a canter through the prairie. Panpipes have never sounded so good.

Luminous Night is a dark, brooding work of art. The strength and diversity of the instrumentation – groaning strings, tremulous 12-string picking ala Blackshaw – pretty much oversteps the vernacular of an indie critic. But as a fan it’s great. To recall Emerson, Chasny has little of the positivism you find in the philosopher’s writings, but perhaps it’s simply time and circumstance that divides the two. For where Chasny’s protagonist asks for proof of God (‘Bar-Nasha’), something Kant and Nietszche discouraged over the past few centuries – God cannot be proved nor disproved; God is dead – Chasny’s answer to his own question appears in the storm of distortion that is ‘Cover Your Wounds with the Sky’. And, indeed, the flutter of piano keys that pricks the load are as cold stars in a crumbling winter sky. There are darker undertones still, with ‘Ursula Minor’ alluding to a parent and a child starving in a winter famine. The song ends with a worrisome set of lyrics: “The hospital’s no place to say goodbye/I’m taking you to the shore/at the edge of the shore I kiss your eyes/You know that I’ve never loved anyone more.” Perhaps pantheism exists for Chasny after all.

The work of James Blackshaw, Stars of the Lid and Six Organs of Admittance is providing fans of lo-fi, folk and classical with a generous meeting point. It seems a natural progression for music as art and philosophy. These artists are expressing their concerns and limitations in a style of music that underlines the infinite push of well-made, meaningful instrumental music. In the case of Six Organs of Admittance, Chasny is asking the questions straight out, with panpipes.

Record Review: The Tough Alliance - The New School

via Ragged Words
Release Date: 20 Jul 2009
Record Label: Service
In Three Words: I Love Sweden
Ragged Rating: 4/5

By Daniel Greenwood

No one makes popular electronic music like they do in Sweden. It began with the Knife’s Deep Cuts back in 2004 (‘Heartbeats’ was song of the year for many, thanks in part to Jose Gonzalez’s cover version) and since then it’s been all Jens Lekman, Studio and The Tough Alliance, with ambient melancholics JJ recently becoming the new indie blogspot darlings. And that’s without even mentioning Air France or the Knife slice-off Fever Ray. You can’t help but feel that all the praise is well-deserved though, apart from the Knife, few of these artists have really been appreciated anywhere other than the handful of hegemonic leftist-indie websites. And that’s strange only because this is pop music to a beat, with the sunshine and witty sense of self reminiscent of the Beach Boys.

For the Tough Alliance, it’s a blend of English-as-second-language vocals, a well-reared sampling methodology, indigestible melodies that suck like leeches at your frontal lobes, and an imperious style of production as good as any cash-rich studio dope. These Swedes are bedroom musicians of the highest calibre. Among them, The Tough Alliance are lodged in the leftfield, and they don’t reveal much. In an interview with Pitchfork, the duo responded to a question about the nature of the band: ‘It is what it is, man… People seem to have an unhealthy need for simple, shallow, and irrelevant information and we feel it would oppose the essence of The Tough Alliance to encourage this destructive behaviour. We want the focus to be on the expression of the unity of TTA, not on our personas.’

If 2007’s A New Chance is a swift and perfectly-formed piece, The New School – the band’s debut originally released two year earlier - is something different. It’s five songs larger and twenty-minutes longer whilst being altogether more grounded. TTA have since built songs from the soil upward, but here the Swedes are compiling tunes brick by digital brick. And, for a while, The New School might not be what latter TTA fans had hoped for or expect if coming to for the first time. Whereas A New Chance grabs you by the ankle and flings you around the room, The New School requires a little more patience. At fifty-minutes it might be a too long for those expecting instant joys. Beyond the record’s underbelly of midget kicks and thudding CPU thrum-toms, there lies a contemplative edge. The sampling of the Kopite refrain ‘You’ll never walk alone,’ is probably an ode to TTA’s hometown football club (LOL), but for this bitter Evertonian reviewer it’s a concession to commitment.

The New School in itself sounds like a call to arms, with ‘Koka Kola Veins’ – the standout track here – musing on those in a sugary, cola stupor: “We got koka kola veins/we don’t know our names/blah blah blah”. It’s not necessarily a criticism but a confession. For TTA at least, it’s time to stop fucking around.

Record Review: Sunset Rubdown - Dragonslayer

via Ragged Words
Release Date: 20 Jul 2009
Record Label: Jagjaguwar
In Three Words: King Of Hearts
Ragged Rating: 4/5

By Daniel Greenwood

Sunset Rubdown frontman Spencer Krug’s demeanour is at once stoic and downtrodden, and with Dragonslayer, the band’s third album, Krug is processing an all-consuming lovesickness. Dragonslayer is a break-up record, it’s true: “I believe she only loved my face/and maybe these days are over now,” so sings Krug on the record’s beleaguered opener ‘Silver Moons’. These issues of deceit and artifice are embellished in the album artwork – glammed-up mannequins posing against backdrops of urban decay. Most definitely, the protagonist portrayed by Krug is experiencing women troubles. But also, aside from the lovelorn swoon inherent here, there’s an attention to ageing, and the guise of sexual seductiveness disappearing with time: “Here’s a photograph for you to hold/it’s a picture of just before I got old,” as on ‘Apollo and the Buffalo and Anna Anna Anna Oh!’.

It’s ‘Silver Moons’ which sets the scene, with Krug and co. keen to waste no time by imbuing urgency early on. This impetus carries through when married with patience on the listener’s part, and, listen after repeated listen, the music strikes through. As ever, with any Wolf Parade offshoot, Sunset Rubdown offer treats over time, and though Krug admits to ‘pulling faces at acquired tastes’ his band are just that.

The lyrics are what grip you here, amidst what is at first a not wholly riveting instrumentation of grizzly guitars and tumbling drum rolls. ‘Nightingale/December Song’ offers vivid, explosive metaphors for Krug’s change of heart late-on, his attempt at growing old with grace: ‘You need the one who slowly burns/and burns to stay alive/…You are a vast explosion/and I am the embers’. This concession to clarity is fleeting, however. Entering upon the ‘Dragon’s Lair’, the record’s 10-minute finale, is a man looking for a ‘different kind of kill’. But it remains unclear whether our hero’s mantra of “You’re such a champion/You are a champion” is self-help or an admission to the bête noire acting as catalyst for Spencer Krug’s hot-headed wretchedness. These songs are ‘broken-hearted shapes’ and fitting pieces to the puzzle that is Spencer Krug the artist. Dragonslayer is the latest episode in an ever growing compendium of Krugisms.

Record Review: Loney, Dear - Dear John

via Ragged Words
By Daniel Greenwood
Release Date: 02/03/2009
Ragged Rating: **+ (2.5/5)
In a Ragged Word: Pleasant

The first line of Loney, Dear’s homepage reads: “Every night before I go to bed I try to find a not so good review of the new album, and I get what I ask for.” These are the words of Emil Svanängen, the man behind Loney, Dear’s new record Dear John. Svanängen’s interest in the critical reception of his new record isn’t limited to corners of his website, it also finds its way onto the record, specifically on ‘Harsh Words’ where Svanängen pleads with someone “not to use harsh words over me, over what I do.” He’s asking you not to say he doesn’t try hard, as his voice gets lost in a flurry of percussion. It’s clear he does try hard – the ambient elements of the songs are sewn together meticulously – but you’d have to be a hardened Loney, Dear fan to find this cute at all.

There isn’t really any space for ‘harsh words’ in criticising Svanängen’s music, but the fact that he’s underlined a problem stops the music from moving somewhere meaningful. The real snag is Svanängen’s vocals. The strange layering of voices is grating at times. The lyrics come off as superfluous as much of it amounts to lonely muttering and if not muttering, then throwaway nah-nahing, as on ‘Airport Surroundings’. This is a pop record, with the Scandinavian drum machine beats reminiscent of weaker Tough Alliance tunes. It’s hard to shirk the thought that Bavarians do it better though (in Loney, Dear’s case) and the melancholy that Svanängen aims for is what Lali Puna nailed on Scary World Theory.

It’s hard not to mention Jens Lekman in a review for a Swedish pop album, but he is the zeitgeist, the pinnacle. Dear John lacks what Lekman has by the bucket load: wit. And at the moments when it’s most needed, if not to let the listener in, it just isn’t there. This is a cathartic exercise for Svanängen, as was the case on Solonge, and Loney Noir, but the catharsis is the artist’s own. He isn’t sharing much, and that stops you from accessing a record that is entirely pleasant and well-intentioned. Sadly, it doesn’t feel like that’s enough.