Hercules and Love Affair

Hercules and Love Affair

[Mute]

You might have heard Hercules and Love Affair, the project of New York DJ Andy Butler and friends, on Radio K for a few months now, but not until this past week have stateside K listeners had the privilege of picking up the self-titled debut in stores (you do still support your local record shops, right?). Why dance label DFA released the album in Europe long before allowing distribution powerhouse Mute to pick it up for American ears is unclear, but it justifiably gives reason to twice obsess over the newest collective of musicians (boasting both familiar voices and newcomers alike) boldly presenting a new era in club music. Especially when this second wave comes at a time when summer is officially in full swing, ready for blood-pumping music to match the warmth of our weather and blueness of our sky.

With unstoppable praise and everyone from Antony Hegarty of Antony & the Johnsons contributing vocals to Tyler Pope of !!! adding a bass efflorescence to Butler's redefinitions of house beats and melodies, it comes as a surprise that Hercules' greatest asset to the genre is its defiant intimacy in the face of modern day party playlist hoarders (and label mates) like LCD Soundsystem. Of course, anyone familiar with the work of Antony knows that his quaver could make a 100-piece orchestra sound like a personal melancholic heartbreak, and Pope mellows out his usual low end frenzy while preserving his relentless start-stop dedication to the instrument. Likewise, Butler never concerns his jams' cores with excess or magnitude. Acquiescing to the space between his keystrokes and hi-hat meditations, the songs breathe fully and easily, not sparse enough to be considered minimalist, but also never overly egotistical so that it would only be appreciable when listened to at ground-shaking volume.

Even confidently decreasing the beats-per-minute on the equally delicious "Iris" results in a danceable group number that could be just as comfortable as lullaby for one. Kim Ann Foxman, the vocalist for this song and others on the disc, shines as a worthy counterpart to Antony's tour de force performances that often demand the spotlight (such as on single "Blind," which is the audio equivalent of the saddest fireworks show ever, or on the quietly climbing instrumental bed of "Time Will"). And yet, even the dramatist inside Antony can be modest-ified on "This is My Love," which finds him calmly expressing while Butler's compositional talents take the reins, bursting out a horn section that swims and splashes through the song's latter half. Still blithely summery and certainly worthy of spending carefree time in the sun with a flock of friends, Butler has constructed a deeply moving dance record ? one that does not need canonization to affect the listener, but it's inevitable because it already has.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Wolf Parade

At Mount Zoomer

[Sub Pop]

It's a tug of war. Forget ego and its everlasting place in rock and roll, it's a no-nonsense battle between aesthetics for the listener when a band is co-led by two equally talented songwriters/musicians with two distinctly different ways of handling dirty synth-infused indie rock. On paper, antithetical adjectives like "unified" and "divisive" burst out to constantly praise and/or pick apart Wolf Parade and its two stars, keyboardist/vocalist Spencer Krug and guitarist/vocalist Dan Boeckner, who each have exactly 4.5 songs that they wrote and sing lead on throughout their triumphant sophomore release At Mount Zoomer. When it all comes to putting on those headphones, though, some people will gravitate more to Boeckner's songs and some will latch themselves onto Krug's. It's simple the way the cookie crumbles.

Now, this does not mean one can't enjoy both nor that one cannot appreciate Zoomer as a whole. Rather, it means Wolf Parade are a band that very simply contains three levels of awesome: Boeckner, Krug, and what the two can do together. Their left-field knockout debut Apologies to the Queen Mary obviously didn't come with the dual singer baggage; it simply wowed audiences with a new brand of rousing and warped rock music. However, like Zoomer, upon closer examination, Boeckner is in charge of the "rousing" aspect (like he does in side project Handsome Furs) while Krug maintains control over the "warped" mindset (see his other work in Sunset Rubdown and Swan Lake). Boeckner and Krug have a warbling yelp and penchant for circus synths in common, which keeps the songs held together, but Boeckner's guitar pop anthems serve a markedly different purpose from Krug's piano-led forays into twisted mayhem.

On their latest collaboration, the two are also lyrically bound by a common theme of the decaying city. Almost too catchy to be medium-tempo, Boeckner bemoans a mysterious "Language City," remarking, "all this working, just to tear it down." While he's stuck participating in reverse construction, the more wolf-like Krug sits on the wooded outset of town on "Bang Your Drum," questioning, "do they beat that drum to get you back home or do they beat it to keep you away?" All this clever wordplay doesn't hit the ears, though, until fully absorbing the rollicking instrumental interplay, which both harks back to joyous Queen Mary reverberations ("The Grey Estates") and inches toward new adventurous sounds (the proggy keys cannot be denied on "California Dreamer"). The two come to a bubbling head in the epic closer "Kissing the Beehive," co-written and co-led by Boeckner and Krug, which offers plenty of time to fully digest both men's separate contributions to the group and cements Wolf Parade's status as one of the most enjoyable bands with more than one prominent lead singer in indie rock today.

Stream: Wolf Parade - Call It A Ritual

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Wolf Parade will be playing the First Avenue Mainroom on Wednesday, July 9th. Doors 8pm. 18+

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Shearwater

Rook

[Matador]

Translating the crispness of a cool summer night and the eerie reflection of gray clouds upon shimmering lake water into music is apparently possible. And Jonathan Meiburg (formerly of Okkervil River) and his cavalcade of Shearwater contributors have not only successfully executed it on their latest full-length, but they have perfected it. Album of the Year accolades are already bouncing around the blogosphere and mainstream press alike, and similar to The National's Boxer last year, Rook has the potential to reel in the masses with a tender but brutal darkness. Usually when an indie-rock album garners crossover appeal, it's because of giant hooks or a cutesy pop sound, not the benevolent moroseness that encompasses the eulogy music on Rook.

Another guarantee that the Shearwater hype isn't some kind of freshman adoration is the fact that the band has been working toward this kind of esteemed recognition for over seven years now. Rook catapults itself into the band's discography as album number five in a long line of carefully constructed mood music, complexly orchestrated and understated as all get out - the precise combination of loveliness that basically screams, "no need to shine the spotlight on us...yet." Originally teaming up with the main force behind Okkervil River, Will Sheff, for 2001's The Dissolving Room, Shearwater often focused on restrained acoustic affairs not unlike the way their other band eased its way into dramatic and more eye-opening territory by the time last year's The Stage Names came around.

When Meiburg expanded 2006's Palo Santo as a newly released sprawling epic with re-written and re-recorded parts, anticipation for Rook deservedly grew exponentially. Now here it is, and every doomed piano chord and ghostly vocal sustain has been amped up emotionally without ever sounding overproduced or sensationalized. And it's not a one-trick pony of soft and pretty: "Century Eyes" triumphs at turning a distorted guitar sound into something heavenly and multi-faceted, "I Was a Cloud" gets nearly ambient while retaining an unbearable sense of dread, and "The Snow Leopard" maintains a middle ground of both smoldering instrumentation (wait for that subtle brass to squeal!) and Mieburg's volatile falsetto. Providing a murky setting with a refreshingly open sound, Shearwater seem poised to become a staple crossover act, and us indie kids couldn't get better representation.

Stream: Shearwater - Rooks

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Shearwater will be playing the 7th Street Entry on Wednesday, June 25th. Doors 8pm. 18+

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Free Kitten

Inherit

[Ecstatic Peace]

Riot grrrl and slacker ethic have never typically gone hand in hand. Then again, neither term has been widely attributed to Kim Gordon either. The iconic female figure behind Sonic Youth and, now for the first time in eleven years, Free Kitten (along with former Pussy Galore shredder Julia Cafritz and percussionist extraordinaire Yoshimi of Boredoms) has always projected a more aggressive and gender neutral self-image. Truth is, however, Kim's signature half-creeptastic half-falling asleep vocal technique, combined with her scuzzed out to infinity bass and guitar technique, has treaded the middle ground between these two ends of the DIY spectrum ever since her more legendary band teenage daydreamed into cult stardom.

The three ferociously mellow women's careers are surely enough to reel in enough interested fans to the third Free Kitten record, but if you needed another reason, Dinosaur Jr.'s (not to mention countless other notable projects) J. Mascis also shows up to frolic around maniacally with guitar pedals and snare hits on a few tracks. Add Mark Ibold, of Pavement, to Free Kitten's list of past accomplices and you practically have the indie portion of the 90s Lollapalooza reboot lineup covered in the band's brief three album (plus a singles compilation) discography. When stripped of all the namedropping and wallowing in the past, though, Inherit remains a distinctly carefree effort: with only a basic rock set-up, the threesome manages to exercise everything from noisy punk anthems to jagged experimentals to elongated tribal jams, often combining these styles for the utmost effect.

At their catchiest and most immediately satisfying, "Seasick" still writhes and flops around like a gutted fish. The album's longest and most portentous track, "Monster Eye," does feel endless at times, but it never bores, always paying attention to the need for noise and tempo (seemingly letting Yoshimi's talents shine). "Help Me" tricks the listener with almost half its 1:46 runtime drowning in lo-fi obscurity until it jolts into high gear with a fearless screw-all attitude, with studio quality volume to boot. Even when songs like the jump-starting "Erected Girl" and "The Poet" indeed recall (some have claimed redundancy) the almighty SY at their most straight-forward and Kim-centric, Cafritz and Yoshimi shrewdly inject an undeniable sense of blissed-out anger that enforces Free Kitten's unique slackrrr girl aesthetic. SY will always prevail in popularity, but Gordon deserves an alternate outlet, as do the other able-bodied influential musicians that make up Free Kitten.

Stream: Free Kitten - Sea Sick

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Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Bonnie "Prince" Billy

Lie Down In The Light

[Drag City]

Does a man makes his disposition or does a disposition make its man? Gathering first impressions of Will Oldham's newest offering as the artist Bonnie "Prince" Billy tends to suggest that the stark and dusky moods that fill the folk songs of his past have identified the musician himself as a stark and dusky individual. Thus, a sunnier and breezier Oldham freaks his listeners out. The freak outs have been largely positive, however, like a fancily wrapped gift from your pessimistic but reliable grandpa who usually gives you a check every Christmas. Those checks were always helpful and very indicative of your grandpa's personality, but this present is just something out of this world - it's like he's a brand new person, even though his demeanor remains the same during the holiday meal.

Like a grumpy grandpa's complaining though, no one ever fell in love with Oldham simply because his music had a darker tinge to it than most folk music of the late-90s indie variety. They fell in love with the lullaby melodies, the hushed vocals, and the intricate arrangements. All of these beloved elements are still ever present in Lie Down, just amped up and ready for a lazy boat ride in the middle of a 90-degree day rather than muffled down and ready for a secret boat ride in the middle of a foggy night. Nothing to be shocked or up in arms about, either positively or negatively, because no matter what, Oldham and his music have always been about quiet solitude and reflection - not instant emotion.

Whether he communicates it with only a guitar or with an arsenal of playful instruments is irrelevant. "For Every Field There's a Mole" comes off subtle and low-key, but implements a whispering Rhodes piano cuddled up in the right channel and a clever clarinet responding to the second verse. The title track's somber piano and graceful plucking recalls the essentials-only practice Oldham has so often demonstrated, but his hesitant vocals are layered and smoothed over. This compromising between the familiar and the big brightness occurs throughout; at least until the album?s denouement "I'll Be Glad" has the last word. With a sprinkle of tambourine and gospel backing vocals, he proclaims with what must be a smile on his face,"wherever you go, you'll always have me around." Yes, Grandpa Oldham, we know - and we're oh so lucky for it.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Spiritualized

Songs in A & E

[Sanctuary]

It's curious to notice when fans, critics, and the general music listening public choose to refer to the man behind the now legendary Spiritualized as Jason Spaceman or Jason Pierce. The sillier moniker stems from his involvement in the influential drone-rock/shoegaze outfit Spacemen 3, but since that band's rocky break-up and the formation of his new project, everyone has taken it upon themselves to decide when to call Jason by his original stage name versus his birth name. In 2008, most are unequivocally talking about the sixth studio Spiritualized album, the orchestrally lush and sprawling Songs in A & E, in terms of Jason Pierce's new effort, leaving "J. Spaceman" confined to the liner notes of the disc.

There are a few possible explanations for this: perhaps it's due to the exponentially decreasing science-fiction elements in Pierce's music (he has since replaced erratic guitar phasing with crisp blues guitar crunches and airport ambient swirls with graceful string swells). Or perhaps it's due to Pierce's recent near-death battle with double pneumonia, which interrupted his lengthy writing/recording process for A & E with hospital stays and almost surely gave him a new perspective on every aspect of life, including his own music. These songs certainly sound like they come from a man who's been through a lot, and whether he's ditching the sonic mayhem that put him on the map for conscious or unconscious reasons, one thing is certain: these are songs from a man who has been to space and back, but at heart, is still an earthly being.

Conveniently enough, the weathered, rootsy feel of the majority of these tracks also have more of a tangible story behind them than what could be explained by life experiences or musical evolution. Upon his recovery, Pierce stumbled across a 1929 acoustic Gibson in Cincinnati that very simply called his name. Utilizing this guitar as A & E's backbone, Pierce's usual sprinkling of bells and whistles on songs like "The Waves Crash In" or the cathartic "Soul on Fire" enhance the intimacy and warmth of the songs rather than transforming the album into a turgid affair. Even rockers like "You Lie You Cheat" or "I Gotta Fire" sound birthed from a place of life affirmation and acceptance, simply of the more rousing variety. No matter where Pierce decides to take the lister during A & E, even throughout the miniature instrumental interludes, his human energy and experience drenches every note, and both musician and music lover feel all the more satisfied because of it.

Stream: Spiritualized - Soul On Fire

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Spiritualized will be playing in Chicago at the Pitchfork Music Festival on July 20.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Dosh

Wolves and Wishes

[anticon.]

Dude got honorably caricatured on a recent City Pages cover. Dude doesn't do anything controversial, doesn't have a heart wrenching story behind his calm bearded face, or have any kind of ego whatsoever. Dude's a beloved local musician on one of the nation's most progressively-minded independent record labels, yes, but dude doesn't even sing. Martin Dosh is the new Minneapolis. His looped and layered instrumental music brings the listener to a place both peaceful and vibrant, solemn and playful, introspective and expressive. He has been a staple of our ever-burgeoning music scene longer than most might realize (Lateduster and Vicious Vicious were just the beginning; now he also drums for the great Andrew Bird) and with his fourth full-length, Wolves and Wishes, Dosh has solidified his wordless voice.

As the aforementioned City Pages illustration suggests, Martin Dosh's setup and performance technique is meticulously unique and superhumanly impressive. Surrounded by a circular perimeter of drums, samplers, a xylophone, a Rhodes piano, and many more gadgets, the half-man/half-octopus precisely and elegantly constructs and loops riffs upon melodies upon rhythms upon...and so on and so forth. No written description can justifiably equate to witnessing the modest muscle that builds these songs together on stage. In the studio, his experimental yet always crowd-pleasing antics have received many makeovers. His 2002 self-titled debut began with a gritty kitchen sink aesthetic, often focused on the warped textures of his mish-mashing. In 2004, Pure Trash showed a soft and mellow side of Dosh that had been waiting to escape (with still a little characteristic crumple), also exhibiting many downright catchy passages. Two years ago, Martin pulled out all the stops with The Lost Take, exhibiting a shining brightness unheard on any previous releases.

The latest, Wolves and Wishes, intelligently and successfully takes the best of all three worlds Dosh has exhibited for us so far. To boot, he has also made his most organic-sounding record to date, giving the headphones the closest feel to what one might get catching him at First Avenue's Mainroom later this June. Guests help him on his journey as well: Will Oldham sounds like he's chanting from a minimal and desperate forest on "Bury the Ghost," Andrew Bird's violin reaches for cool blue mountains on "Don't Wait for the Needle to Drop," and Dark Dark Dark coo through an afternoon breeze on "Kit and Pearle." As outwardly impressive as Dosh's setup, guests, and musical prowess is, however, what stands out most is still his music's ability to breathe without pomposity or stuffy art snobbery. Dosh looks forward without leaving anyone behind - and Minneapolis is with him every step of the way.

Stream: Dosh - If You Want To, You Have To

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Radio K Presents Dosh with P.O.S. and Kill the Vultures at First Avenue. Doors 8pm. 18+.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

The Black Angels

Directions to See a Ghost

[Light in the Attic]

Waiting in the humid desert air, staring into a chasm of blackness, and taunting the unknown are The Black Angels. On one level of consciousness, the languorous percussion and weighty but fluid bass keeps the paranoia-fueled band low to the ground, weary of its surroundings, but never vicious or hateful enough to attack. In their deep red eyes, crouched on the cracked dirt like a pack of frozen mountain lion, however, the truth can be seen. Swelling guitars, warped organ, and snarling vocals indicate a rapture in the making. The Black Angels don't merely suggest the sound of modern dread; they are the fright as well as the afraid.

In late 2005, the Austin five-piece fiercely wowed the Radio K staff and volunteers with their debut self-titled EP. The short-playing collection captured the hearts of both the retro-psych enthusiasts and obsessive new music fanatics alike. Successive listens and spins of 2006's full-length follow-up Passover as well as visits to the station by the brooding rockers themselves turned Radio K into The Black Angels' veritable Midwest headquarters. It was almost as if their music was aurally laced, sedating us into a catatonic state of musical bliss: must...have...more...drone. With the sophomore effort officially in our hands, Directions gives us exactly what we've been waiting for.

The songs are more nuanced, less impulsive, and even slightly more eclectic (sitar!) for a band whose sound is so deeply rooted in a subgenre's precise, and often pigeonholing, traditions. "Doves" almost sounds majestic and gleaming before imploding under duress and warble. Launching into meditative territory, "Never/Ever" and "Snake in the Grass" even jostle and shake for several minutes without ever destroying the restraint the band controls so well. Don't fret though, "You in Color" and "You On the Run" still boom methodically with singer Alex Maas careening through the building instrumental pressure like a classic Black Angels track. No matter what, every song bleeds seduction through destruction, gently yet firmly persuading a new fan to join their end-of-the-world party.

Stream: The Black Angels - Doves

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Radio K Presents The Black Angels the Turf Club on Wednesday, June 18 with the Warlocks. Doors 9pm. 21+.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Sun Kil Moon

April

[ Caldo Verde]

Slow down. Calm yourself. Be patient. Mark Kozelek and co. need you to follow these three simple steps before dropping the needle on their new record, April. Okay, so these directives might not be so easy to follow in this day and age of noisy art rock and hyper indie-pop garnering all the attention. We live in a hustle and bustle, satisfy-me-now world after all. So wait for a quiet gray day where schedules and agendas don't exist if you must, but don't let anxiety and stress rule all of your music choices. Allow Sun Kil Moon's understated folksy slowcore to embed itself into your headphones and just...relax.

The former leader of Red House Painters has often been held responsible for spearheading this style of music that flows into the ears in slow motion, rests gently upon arrival, and delicately emanates copious amounts of fervent sadness. However, he has always played with this sound. 2005's curious Modest Mouse covers album Tiny Cities infused and angst that came with the territory. Their 2003 debut Ghosts of the Great Highway focused on poppy punchlines and dusty rock musicianship. Both efforts still assembled focused guitar picking and Kozelek's trademark intimate mumble, but April is their first release that grants the resigned music time to germinate, develop, and bloom.

Only four of the album's eleven tracks clock in at under five minutes and all tracks save for one rocker (the epic "Tonight the Sky," which is also the longest offering) softly encourage closed eyes and horizontal listening with their lingering pace. This could be taken as an insult to Kozelek's ability to engage the listener, but it is surely not meant to. Tracks like the resplendent "Lost Verses" or the morose "Heron Blue" mesmerize with remarkable ease and modesty. The variety continues on the album's trump card "Tonight in Bilbao," which delivers a much-needed taste of the sparkling and uplifting as April's penultimate track. Kozelek and crew were no fools when constructing these tunes: maybe the remedy for a fast-paced world is a little peace and quiet.

Stream: Sun Kil Moon - Moorestown

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Radio K Presents Sun Kil Moon at the Varsity Theater on Friday, June 6th with Retribution Gospel Choir. Doors 8pm. 18+.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Santogold

Santogold

[Downtown]

A lot of talk has been going around calling Santogold (the moniker for Brooklyn-based Santi White) "the new M.I.A." as if any hyped solo female artist with a feisty attitude could become the new stateside sensation that goes from playing modest downtown venues to massive suburban nightclubs in a matter of months. While M.I.A. has indeed become a beloved staple at Radio K, Santogold has her own brand of angsty pop music to bring to the world. Her sound is less concerned with daring electronics or accusatory political statements and more focused on creating tightly knit organic sing-alongs with a good-natured and inviting bent.

It just so happens that her songs are also surprisingly eclectic in influence and execution, expertly showing Santogold's full colors through a slight progression in track sequencing from the album's hook-filled beginning to its more calm and endearing end. It's a surprise because her debut's astonishingly satisfying opening track, "L.E.S. Artistes" sets a tone for an album chockfull of concise and heartfelt pop-rock, and as the tunes keep rolling by, the only adjectives that remain applicable are "concise" and "heartfelt." The album first crawls out if its guitars and morphs into different shades of subtle reggae ("Shove It") and dance party starters ("Creator"), then elegantly slinks back and forth through these sounds, never leaving the mixture she's created unbalanced.

"Tell them that they'll get what they wanted," White sings on another gem from her defiantly positive debut - "You'll Find a Way." She's brazenly confident in not only her vocal delivery but in every carefully constructed beat, guitar hook, and electronic smattering that graces the album. While any other pop music engineer might make this kind of dedication and know-how turn into a clinical listen, Santogold manufactures a warm yet outspokenly raucous affair - one that is not going to be easily forgettable at the end of 2008.

Stream: Santogold - L.E.S. Artistes

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Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!

[Mute]

The red-hot marquee lights that vibrantly spell out the album's deliciously wicked title on its cover say it all: prepare to get burnt. Until last year's outing under the Grinderman guise, the legendary Nick Cave had been, for the most part, getting sweeter and loftier in his musical endeavors with the Bad Seeds. The 2004 double-disc Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus meandered through flowery ballads on one half and gospel choir-aided epics on the other. Before that, the introspective side of Cave prevailed even more as he neared his fourth decade as an artist, almost doing a complete 180 on his days in The Birthday Party. After 2007's foray into gritty sludge rock with the aforementioned new project, some wondered if the Bad Seeds would ever get another chance to re-emphasize their "bad" side. In 2008, they (along with Cave) finally get their fiery comeback.

Looking at Cave's public life outside of music for clues as to how the recent powerhouse effort, Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! came into being, his turn as an actor and co-composer for two dusty existential Westerns in the past few years (The Proposition in 2005 and last year's The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford) offers some insight. Both films required scores that were calm enough to blend into the naturalistic background but also reeked of explosive desperation and raw humanity. Cave's sensibilities fulfilled these needs seamlessly and on Lazarus, he remains comfortably in this mindset, only now with a distinct visual palette to accompany him on his linguistic and instrumental journey into his personal version of the old West ("The city was gone," he divulges on "Moonland").

Musically, every song snarls confidently into the eyes of its maker, taking the identity of a cryptic vagabond sipping on whiskey in the corner of the saloon with the brim of his Stetson just barely covering up his crimson stare. Glance at it at the wrong moment and it could draw and aim its weapon before you could even think about an exit strategy. Some tunes keep their cool, only simmering in angst and tension, such as the stately "Midnight Man," but when the showdown goes down, it doesn't leave a living soul unaffected, as in the demanding "Lie Down Here (& Be My Girl)" or the album's title track. The 8-minute denouement on Lazarus ("More News From Nowhere") is the only segment that doesn't outwardly fit the overarching theme and tone, and thus, becomes the most memorable experience on the album. It's when that rogue vagabond finally finds the woman that he came to the town for in the first place, demonstrating that Cave may be the ultimate rustic bad-ass, but he'll always have a tender side, just like any great cinematic anti-hero, from Jesse James to Daniel Plainview.

Stream: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!

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Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Cloud Cult

Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes)

[Earthology]

The last possible word that could be used to describe Craig Minowa, or for that matter any other piece of the gigantic Cloud Cult puzzle, is "reserved." The local ensemble's sixth full-length embodies this notion unabashedly, from the tongue-twister title to the bombastic orchestration to the ardent lyrical delivery. This kind of cosmopolitan hearts-on-the-sleeve wall of sound that Minowa and co. create seems at first a prime suspect for accusations of emotional manipulation or over-the-top melodrama, but even when Cloud Cult's music is critically scrutinized (now nationwide due to a rabidly growing fan base with each album), journalists and bloggers hardly ever mention anything of the sort. This is, simply put, because with the eclectic volume and buzzing theatrics oozes brutal honesty and genuine musical enthusiasm.

Perhaps even more noteworthy, Cloud Cult are not just totally real when in communication with their fans and critics, they are also completely real and loyal to themselves as musicians. Usually their refusal to record anywhere except their solar-powered studio is passively mentioned as a piece of indie trivia, but this fact isn't just a by-product of Cloud Cult, it is Cloud Cult. Feel Good Ghosts reminds us of that with every mention of our earth that we inhabit and destroy, the water which we drink and become, and the clouds that populate our skies and release life's liquid down upon us. Al Gore's sterile projection presentation this is not ? with Cloud Cult's latest effort, we feel the messy pressure and joy of nature flowing through our bodies. And what's best is at the end of listening to the record, you manage to still not feel like a total hippie.

Minowa and every instrumentalist/vocalist he works with forgo worrying about sounding cool or part of any scene - they seem to instead opt for sounding like the multitude of varied aspects of our earth. If they are hippies, they are very sober and very cinematic-minded hippies. Every Cloud Cult song, no matter how loud or how quiet, has a climax that bleeds epiphany and celebration. To do this, they know that an incorporation of every piece of themselves that they can muster is 100% necessary to get the job done. "When Water Comes to Life" pounds its fists in the humid air without pause, "The Will of a Volcano" juts forth from the cliffs of the highest mountains, and the desperately glittering "Love You All" twitters along the feathers of a hummingbird gently landing on a blooming flower. Feel Good Ghosts sounds like the ghosts are indeed feeling good, and you will too, even after this life.

Stream: Cloud Cult - When Water Comes To Life

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Cloud Cult will be playing the First Avenue Mainroom on April 26.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Thee Oh Sees

The Master's Bedroom is Worth Spending a Night In

[Tomlab]

Artists and bands that subtly change their name on every album very well might do so just to mess with us. They may even spy on unsuspecting record store clerks as they attempt to properly alphabetize and organize on the release date of their newest effort, who are undoubtedly left scratching their heads as the musicians hiding in the bushes snicker and chortle to their delight. Or maybe they just have an insufferably carefree attitude that defies industry tradition for the sake of breathing life into an artistic practice that has gone stuffy over the ages that have been wrought with commodification and product branding. In the case of the mad genius John Dwyer, formerly of Coachwhips, and his recently gathered troupe of experimental poppers, methinks it's probably the latter.

It all started out as a creepy little project called OCS (which stood either for Orange Country Sound or Orinoka Crash Suite, depending on who you ask), where Dwyer stepped aside from the crushing garage noise of Coachwhips to create tape hiss-inflected acoustic instrumentals. He then elaborated on his trademark sound ? first adding whispering vocals, and as the name became The OhSees, then The Ohsees, and now Thee Oh Sees, more and more players joined in on the fun, slowly transforming Dwyer's works into the upbeat and energetic pop-rock songs on The Master's Bedroom.... Having now put out three varied full-lengths in three years, Dwyer's potential seems practically limitless and his prolific nature proves him to be a relentless force in the experimental music community. Especially since he equally embraces the pop tendencies of his songwriting and the destructively minimalist execution of his recordings, he's got a niche carved out for fans of both the friendly and the frightening.

"Block of Ice" pummels through the speakers as it kick-starts the album with an implacable tempo and gritty bubblegum melody, as if it were a zombie sock hop in the middle of the Thunderdome and everyone was invited. The opener sets the perfect tone for the rest of the album, showing off Dwyer's sense of retro-sloppy style and slithery DIY ethic at once, refusing to let go of your eardrums for another fourteen tracks. This is not to say the album's a one trick pony, however. "Graveyard Drug Party" flashbacks to Dwyer's earlier spacier works as a welder of feedback, crunchy percussion, and cannibalistic vocals and "Adult Acid" utilizes co-vocalist Brigid Dawson's smothered and stormy voice in the same delectable way 2007's Sucks Blood did. While keeping things fresh and uniquely Dwyerian, Thee Oh Sees have also managed to concoct an unyielding album that explores territory they've successfully treaded before, and it gets more satisfying every time: leaving them to surely not disappoint when yet another solid effort amusingly confounds music lovers in 2009.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

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Neon Neon

Stainless Style

[Lex]

Raquel Welch, Michael Douglas, Princess Leia, and the Dolorean: it's as if popular culture could have died in 1989 and no one would have been the wiser. These references and more infiltrate the synth-hop meets synth-pop playground constructed by Cincinatti's dark electro producer Boom Bip and Welsh Super Furry Animals frontman Gruff Rhys on their debut collaborative effort as the appropriately named Neon Neon. Sure, fetishizing the decade that will be eternally remembered for its greedy lavishness and excess is nothing groundbreaking in the world of modern pop music, but it's so often done in a precocious and post-ironic manner. Have you been Rick Roll'd yet? No? Well, you should Google it. How about Goonies - when was the last time you yelled "Hey you guys!" and snickered at your perfect Sloth impression? This is all innocent and harmless, but Neon Neon have created an album that doesn't just hark back to those days - it completely immerses itself in the culture, the beloved and the tortured moments of it all, wrapped into one incredibly textured and delightful package.

The most initially off-putting aspect of the disc is its fearlessness to give control over to its two distinct halves. It is quite noticeable which songs the more hip-hop-influenced Boom Bip helms into more metallic and smoky territory ("Trick for Treat") and which songs the more sunny pop-inspired Rhys night drives into pleasant hooks and sugary choruses ("Belfast"). However, the very purpose of this album gives the duo every reason to explore both sides of the decade's synthetic nature, because the darkness and lightness that derives from the 1980s cannot truly exist as one. Much of the world endured a divisive two-faced world at this time, and so Neon Neon does the same with their music. The track-by-track push and pull evokes the smirking tongue-in-cheek jokes that continually battle the existential arrogance of a Bret Easton Ellis protagonist. His novels equally repel and attract its readers, much like the average listener willing to dive into Stainless Style.

Regardless of the album's herky-jerky nature, justified or not, the individual songs work so well as playlist hits (which is perfect for your local college radio station, natch) that almost every track is impossible to ignore. Another relic of the 1980s, the Pharcyde's wacky hip-hopper Fat Lip, offers a deep and dirty repetitive groove on "Sweat Shop," while the new kings of neon-colored rhymes, Spank Rock turn an otherwise Rhys-centric sound upside down on the insanely colorful "Dream Cars." While these tracks concentrate on the more cynical and depressing subjects of the album's theme, the high points have yet to be discussed. Far and away, the Leia love letter "I Told Her on Alderaan" soars above the rest of the album, capturing the yearning of a lost geek soul and totally owning anyone's ears that pay attention to the chorus. And perhaps this is why the bright and beautiful parts of the 80s are the ones we hold on to dearly as we pretend the rest never happened. "Hey you guys!" Let's dance to Neon Neon.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Vampire Hands

Me and You Cherry Red

[Self Released]

While the other "Vampire" band also earned the Weekly Release Spotlight honor not too long ago, this is the band who more rightly deserves to have the mythic creature of the night in their moniker. Darkness, seduction, blood-soaked, and stealthy all describe the local quartet's music perfectly. To create an even more fitting and creepy image, picture the elongated yellow-nailed, powder white digits of an undead hand wrapping slowly around an imminent victim's smooth and ripe throat - this is the eerily hypnotic and frighteningly captivating world of Vampire Hands and their new release Me and You Cherry Red. The band never bites and kills - they don't cater to the average listener's need for flash bang theatrics. For Vampire Hands, the sneaking and the foreplay are the cornerstones to a great art rock sound.

At once deeply ominous and undeniably entertaining, the short 25 jam-packed minutes of primitive psych-horror rock follows 2007's Virgin Dust American Lips with fierce, satisfying results. One might even argue that in only a year, the band has progressed into more textured and expansive territory. Placing percussion at the forefront of their music, both literally on stage with Alex Rose's drumkit and co-singer Colin Johnson's floor tom in the audience's faces and audibly on their latest recording, they have been able to subtly interweave their vocal duels and exchanges and reverbed-to-burning-hell guitars through the percussion rather that strictly underneath it or chaotically alongside it. It also feels more spacious this time around, allowing for numbers like "Cathedral Blues One" to breathe before exploding in slow motion on the subsequent track.

An ambient cacophony of ghostly saxophones also crawl in and out of the album's title track along with electronic keyboard skitters, hinting at an even more mature and experimentally orchestral future for this new pride of the Twin Cities. Admittedly their sound doesn't follow the slam-dunk success model of that other Vampire band, but later down the line, these guys could easily catch fire with their successful combination of tribally mesmerizing rhythms ("Friendship Rd") with a dirty garage ethic ("Safe Word"). What's most refreshing about Vampire Hands, however, is the fact that they manage to do it without ever sounding cute or directly inspired by any one sound. This is the stuff of local lore, not postmodern hype. Here's hoping the future of these pale coffin-dwelling hands follow the legendary path of a Nosferatu or Dracula, not a Corey Feldman movie.

Stream: Vampire Hands - Safe Word

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Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

The Kills

Midnight Boom

[Domino]

Nico and Lou. Kim and Thurston. Kim and Frank. Up until this year, this progression of legendary male/female counterculture rock duos might have begrudgingly settled for Jack and Meg to round out the list. Fortunately, with their third album and their first hands-down masterpiece (while their freshman and sophomore efforts were under the radar beauties in their own rights), we can let a more well-rounded, less gimmicky duo take their place: Alison and Jamie, aka The Kills. Visceral but bursting with melody and poetic without being esoteric, the half-American/half-British two-piece continue in the rare but honored tradition of sharing the spotlight between genders in a genre whose originators and mainstream followers often glorified selfish egoism and arrogant machismo.

Midnight Boom's standout quality is equally attributable to the album's producer, Spank Rock's Alex Epton, who brings out dimensions of Alison and Jamie's music that had not yet been appropriately put to tape. When their debut album, Keep On Your Mean Side, was released in 2003, they were incorrectly pegged as another entry in the long line of blues-rock revivalists, mostly due to that album's gritty (not to mention enjoyably raw and dark) aesthetic. 2005's No Wow got closer to capturing The Kills we finally know today, with eye-opening singles like "Love is a Deserter," but still relied on a less-is-more ethic that unnecessarily clouded the band's energy. For anyone that has heard Spank Rock's brain-melting hip-hop album YoYoYoYoYo, Epton's ability to bring Alison and Jamie's instrumental inventiveness (from brassy hand claps to bubble gum bass hooks) and vocal prowess to the forefront makes complete and utter sense.

What makes an album a masterpiece, however, is not just top shelf production, songwriting, and a unique sound. No, especially in the new iPod generation (which really isn't all that "new" anymore), a masterpiece album needs to have a brilliant sequencing and arrangement of tracks from beginning to end, making someone actually want to take their digital player off shuffle for once. Opening track "U.R.A. Fever" reels the listener in for two minutes of blissful and bouncy pop (with a sneering edge of course), and more than satisfactorily rolls the ears into a succession of punchy rock-out anthems. The disc chills out a little more than halfway through with the sparse and haunting "Black Balloon," picks up with full-force on "What New York Used to Be," and ends once again going into ballad mode, which surprisingly suits The Kills well and perfectly complements the earlier rock respite. Midnight Boom is the sound of a legendary act in their prime - catch it before albums officially go out of style.

The Kills will be playing May 11 at the Triple Rock with Telepathe. Doors at 9pm. 21+

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Why?

Alopecia

[Anticon]

Upon the first listen, the melodies sound beautiful, tangible, and engaging. Upon the second listen, you're beginning to hum along with the majority of the tracks. Upon the third listen, the unique and infinitely memorable lyrics begin to claw their way into your brain and suddenly you know half of the album's choruses by heart. These are the signs of a solid and praiseworthy pop album. What places Why?'s Alopecia (as well as 2005's Elephant Eyelash) even above this level of awesome are the additional rewards it reaps upon further listening, which aren't all restricted to descriptions of infectiousness and karaoke potential. Details upon heaping assortments of details round every corner of the album, and while this may not be a surprise to those familiar with the meticulousness that Anticon. artists are notorious for, Why? continue to prove themselves as the label's sole artist that use this skill to bridge that gap between the strangely complex and the overtly accessible.

This comes as a surprise because if Why? was just singer Yoni Wolf and a microphone, he would probably be known as the weirdest, albeit still spectacularly entertaining, rhymer in history (opening track "The Vowels Pt. 2" documents Yoni singing, "At singles Bingo, all-time gringo, did anyone hear me cry there? Through a toilet stall divider?"). You can get a taste of what this is like on the scattershot and underfed Why? solo debut, Oaklandazulasylum. Luckily, this is the second time where Yoni has turned Why? into a more cohesive band of musicians that reels Yoni in when necessary (and lets him wildly loose to give the listener a shot of WTF straight to the aorta). Making this task even more difficult is the fact that the group also very obviously consumes a variety of influences, as their indefinable sound incorporates tinges of backpacker hip-hop, anti-folk, bedroom electronica, nerd rock, and even classical piano. On paper, it very clearly does not work. Even in practice, more often that not, the combination of just two of those aforementioned sub-genres would surely end in depressed cringes and interminable shutters. How Why? not only gets away with it, but manages to expertly execute it without anyone saying "these sounds shouldn't go together" is beyond human comprehension.

The one piece to an otherwise unanswerable query that should be easy to grasp for anyone refers back to the original feeling one gets upon the first few listens of a new favorite pop album. It simply feels right because the inflections in the band's chord progressions and Yoni's vocal riffs make the listener yearn for more. Stripping away all descriptions of detailed sub-genre blending or dynamic musicianship, it comes down to enjoying Alopecia as a pop album - something you want on repeat, not something you want to like because you can appreciate it from afar. Yoni's linguistic Olympics do more than half the job by painting vivid imagery like pocketed dollar bills ("These Few Presidents") and dark basketball courts ("The Hollows"). Unforgettable sounds like that of antique xylophones ("Song of the Sad Assassin") or heavenly background whistling ("Gnashville") fill out the meat of Why?'s poppiness. The icing on the cake? Knowing that no matter how many times you listen to it, there's always a new subtle detail or memorable lyric to latch on to the next time around.

Stream: Why? - The Hollows (EXPLICIT LYRICS - Album version)

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Radio K Presents Why? at the 7th Street Entry on Sunday, April 6th with Gospel Gossip and Heiruspecs. Doors at 8pm. 18+.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks

Real Emotional Trash

[Matador]

It may be impossible to ever read about a Malkmus album without also absorbing some kind of nostalgic reference to his days as the slacker singer/guitarist for Pavement. Mostly it has to do with that band's justly attained status as one of the greatest indie rock bands of all time, which is saying something, as they did not have the rebellious edge of Sonic Youth nor the intelligent sincerity of Yo La Tengo. No, they were simply a group of man-boys who had fun, sang about nonsense, and made silly noises with their instruments. This trademark nonchalant charisma continues still now on Malkmus's fourth full-length since Pavement's demise (second with backing band The Jicks) and although the man and his songs haven't necessarily grown up or matured, they surely have progressed and evolved.

His fans have been waiting a long time too for the culmination of this progression, as he's been toying with a new tone or style on every album he's helmed, whether it be the pop song perfecting on his self-titled debut, the dark jams of Pig Lib, or the folk freak-outs of Face the Truth. Everyone's been wondering "what does Stephen Malkmus sound like when he's not trying to do one thing in particular?" Now we have our answer with Real Emotional Trash. He feels at his most honest and natural - his voice still containing the aloofness we've grown to love, but we feel his presence in the moment more often than ever before. His guitar also meanders more so than ever before, but on every track, there's a solid conclusion that proves it's not all for naught. However, this all doesn't really feel like an intentional balance of the free form and the pop conduit. Here, Malkmus is simply being himself, and it just so happens this is the result.

"Gardenia" is as concise as the album gets both in length and melodically, and it's the first indicator of how important The Jicks are in aiding Malkmus in sculpting his first authentic rock sound he's offered to the public since Pavement. After a sludgy intro, Janet Weiss (formerly of Sleater-Kinney) pipes in with her perky percussion and back-up vocals and suddenly, Malkmus and crew sound like they're working together rather than simply following one man's lead. It really is simply representative of the album as a whole, from the ten-minute title track's ebbs and flows between Malkmus's spotlight and epic teamwork, or the mellow and even touching "Out of Reaches," which keeps from falling apart because of The Jicks pushing Malkmus through till the end. Hopefully Malkmus doesn't leave The Jicks behind again, because they almost surely are what help him shine the most on this, truly his first effort that is unquestionably his own.

Stream: Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks - Baltimore

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Stephen Malkmus will be playing the First Avenue Mainroom on March 19.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Beach House

Devotion

[Carpark]

Out of all the amazing things the human body and brain are capable of, dreaming is probably the most mysterious of them all. Not only this, but unlike walking or talking - which we all do relatively similarly, every single human being dreams in a very different and distinct way. Some dream of frightening and fast-paced chases through dark forests or some dream of wild bourgeois parties with their favorite celebrities in attendance; the list could go on. Indeed, while we're not all conjuring visions of impressionistic fields of flowers and swirling skies, the musical sub-genre "dream-pop" almost always recalls this type of blended ethereal pleasure that paints a very innocent version of dreams. The Baltimore duo Beach House have been pinned to this term, and it's both a reasonably fair assessment on the surface and yet also feels strangely shortsighted if you let their sound get deep under your skin.

And you definitely should, because their trademark mixture of Alex Scally's sad ghost of a slide guitar and Victoria Legrand's dusty and forlorn voice is more than just a dream. Sure, heavily reverbed organ also soaks the eleven songs to the point of melting away all semblance of a cut-and-dry reality, but as Beach House's notable grit indicates, that is not a reality that exists anymore anyway (as if it ever did). No, the more apt metaphor for their sound, which they've continued and now perfect on their sophomore LP Devotion, would be that feeling of the radio alarm clock's AM din slowly becoming the soundtrack for the dream that will inevitably end as the dreamer is lifted so slowly and graciously from the unconscious. It is the precise synthesis of the beautiful unknown and the impending opening of heavy eyelids on a Monday morning. The residue of a hazy dream left in the corners of your eyes, Beach House are looking at a new day with hesitance and longing for the darkness and escapism of dreaming without actually attempting to recreate that which they wish for.

When Legrand sings, she comes off as both dejected and joyful, specifically on album highlight "Astronaut," where her layered vocals both swoon and cry out, or "Turtle Island," where background ambience takes a backseat to her unique presence. She perfectly alternates between the bleakness of a long walk to the car on a wintry morning and the billowy pillows and soft blankets that await her as she returns home every night to a dream-filled sleep. Scally's sorrowful guitar playing steals hearts like the most memorable supporting actor in your favorite movie, accentuating K hit "Gila" and the understated "All the Years" in all the right parts with cautious and restrained melodies that you won't be able to shake for days. These sounds emanating from Devotion surely are the manifestation of the transition between horizontal and vertical, between asleep and awake...there's just enough to feel real without ever relinquishing the importance of dreaming and letting go.

Stream: Beach House - Gila

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Beach House will be playing March 25 at the 7th Street Entry, 8pm Doors 21+.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

Bon Iver

For Emma, Forever Ago

[Jagjaguwar]

There must be a correlation between how lonely an album sounds and how removed from society its creator was during the recording process. There's no other explanation. This is the epitome of solitary music. It's the kind of music where unless the restless crowd at a bar or your friends in the backseat are dead silent, it will lack the impact it has when listening to it on your lonesome. Justin Vernon secluded himself to the woods of Eau Claire, Wisconsin with no intention of coming out known as Bon Iver, blog-hyped musical sensation. It's obvious just from listening to the first few desolate moments of For Emma, Forever Ago ? this is simply the sound of someone letting no other person or man made entity get in the way of his music except for himself, his thoughts, and his cabin in the forest.

It's very dangerous calling an album perfect. In this situation, however, with an album so pure and unaffected by the bombardment of absurd chaos that is the average American life, it would be more dangerous to call it flawed. It in no way can be called as such. The acoustic guitar strums sound like they're happily smothered by crackling leaves and branches and the varied ambient flourishes don't congest the delicate sparseness but rather add to it. The sounds are naturalistic in an unprecedented way ? the record doesn't come off as dry or stale ? it quivers and tousles in the wind like a weeping willow with a heart. Vernon's isolated setting isn't just the frame for his canvas; it is his canvas. He became one with his surroundings, and the music becomes his experience, not an extension thereof.

More so than any other aspect of this album, though, this spotlight could not conclude without discussing Vernon's simultaneously haunting and heavenly voice. His falsetto swims in layers through the driving ?Lump Sum? and his gruff croon yearns on "Skinny Love," but both are equally moving. By the time both voices are multi-tracked (along with a subtle vocoder!) in the sing-along "The Wolves (Act I and II)," you'll be amazed For Emma is not even halfway over yet, as you've already heard a world of pain and love inside 17 minutes. But the disc soldiers on in an unrelenting yet inviting way, until the gorgeous "Re: Stacks" leaves you in a breathless calm you never want to escape. After your first listen (and trust me, there will be more), it becomes unquestionably clear why Bon Iver translates to "Good Winter." And in Minnesota, we need as much as we can get to find a reason to recall any winter fondly. Bon Iver is 2008's reason.

Stream: Bon Iver - Skinny Love

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Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

British Sea Power

Do You Like Rock Music?

[Rough Trade]

Odds are that if you have any kind of reaction to the off-putting titular question posed by the Brighton group's third full-length, whether feeling challenged or condescended, you are not one of those poor souls that believed rock and roll ever was or ever needed to be saved by anyone. Rock music indeed never had nor ever will have any minute possibility of going away, regardless of what music critics told us when The Strokes hit the scene. An artist using their album title to ask us about our take on the genre only inherently strengthens rock's prevalence in our musical culture. The eleven tracks on British Sea Power's latest effort fit oh so classically into that canon that for just a moment you can realize the absurdity of a world where so much of the record industry's output follows a simple formula: strum, cymbal crash, emote, repeat.

Of course, a band who devotes entire songs to Nobel Peace Prize winners ("Atom") and locales plagued by Avian Influenza ("Canvey Island") is probably intelligent enough to be in on the joke. While the contents of their sound may not be earth shattering, as they surely know, it's the assemblage of their parts that makes them worth listening to. British Sea Power don't just strum their guitars; they wail, flail, and crush them. Their cymbals don't just crash; they collide astronomically with a wily and gargantuan passion. And you better believe they don't just emote. No, they construct resounding choral arrangements that convey lyrically dramatic, intimate, and pleading human sentiments to the point of aortic rupture.

From the ascending opening track to the muted eight-minute closer, British Sea Power repeat the ambiguous mantra: "We're all in it now." While the intellectual rockers might be singing about our inescapable eternally devolving society, the listener might construe the statement as a brazen claim to the band's power to reel in and retain your ears' attention for a series of unforgettable anthems. Whether it be "No Lucifer" capturing the nervous essence of a future-weary world or ?Trip Out? searching for a moment of freedom during the apocalypse, there is enough tension and power bleeding through every seam of DYLRM? to keep anyone listening straight from beginning to end, regardless of their traditionally calculated musical leanings.

Stream: British Sea Power - Atom

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Written by Chris Polley, Radio K volunteer and host of Now Like Photographs.

British Sea Power will be playing at the Triple Rock on March 21, 8:00 pm Doors, 21+

A Place To Bury Strangers

A Place To Bury Strangers

[Killer Pimp]

A little noise won't kill you. A little dose of scraping sounds steeped in explosive battery acid pulses won't turn you evil. After all, despite the scary name, for every grimy and guttural guitar tone that shoots into your skull on A Place to Bury Strangers' debut full-length, there's an equal amount of meditative and downright gorgeous atmospherics sheening over the package. Frontman Oliver Ackerman's depressed but bouncing warbling hints at a world of both comfort and anxiety, rolled into one, as if the notion of positive and negative feelings being mutually exclusive is the most ridiculous concept he and the rest of his bandmates have ever heard.

Then again, that seems to be the way things go in their hometown of New York City. Just as in their music, there's always a bleak hustle and bustle on the forefront, but then again, there also has to be time to let go and have a pleasant release from the stress and chaos. If you're not patient, "Don't Think Lover" sounds like a broken demon toaster going berserk, but if you get past the deafening intro, you're rewarded with a cloudy yet inviting hum-along verse. By the next time the muffled snare roll signifies a turn back to the blaring, your ears get excited for this game of sound APTBS have constructed and you're not only willing, you're clamoring to take on the rest of the disc. Whether it's the left channel static in "I Know I'll See You" or the earsplitting percussion in "To Fix the Gash in Your Head," it all plays so elegantly into the pop that is buried underneath it, and still it comes as a surprise every time the trio's instruments explode through the speakers.

Sure, blending cacophony with joy isn't anything new, but the party anthem destructiveness that lies within their Jesus and Mary Chain-for-a-new-generation aesthetic leaps miles beyond the average crunchy guitar pedal or the standard distorted blanket of ambiance utilized by their predecessors. In fact, one of the most advertised pieces of trivia about APTBS is that Ackerman has been known for a while in the indie-rock community as the man behind Death By Audio guitar pedals, creating some of the most distinct modulations for the electric axe around. So it begins to make sense that the closer the listen, the more the band's retro-futurist technique becomes more clearly about the present, and not about regurgitating the success of Suicide, Joy Division, or any other band that is closely associated with dingy Euro-basement imagery.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K DJ and volunteer.

Stream: A Place To Bury Strangers - To Fix The Gash In Your Head

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Radio K Presents Holy F*** and A Place to Bury Strangers at the Triple Rock Social Club on Monday, February 18th. Doors 9pm. 21+.

Tune in Monday, February 18th at 4pm as they'll be performing live on the air!

Vampire Weekend

Vampire Weekend

[XL]

It's quite childish, really - wanting to not get into something so bad almost solely because it's riding a wave of popularity throughout the Internet before their first proper release even hits the shelves. Yet you try to convince yourself: it's not like these four recent well-off Columbia graduates wearing khakis need anymore people fawning over them. Nevertheless, you have to put the CD in to fully understand why you're not going to enjoy it like everyone else, especially because it's 8am and you're on your way to work. And of course, just like a sick joke, as the rainbow melodies of "Oxford Comma" wiggle into your ears, you begin to involuntarily smirk. But that's not all: suddenly the sun shining through the windshield and into your face as you turn a corner turns all anthropomorphic on you, laughing joyously and saying to you, "it's okay, the next song 'A-Punk' is even more delightful."

That bright, yellow, and benevolent center of our universe is right, too. Like a perfect pop album should, Vampire Weekend's self-titled debut brings it up a notch with each successive track, creating a unifying and unique overall sound throughout without ever distinctly repeating the same idea twice. They achieve this musical anomaly using two controversial methods that so many brooding for-the-sake-of-art musicians pride themselves on avoiding: thievery and fun-having. "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa" directly references both Congolese dance music (the title) and Peter Gabriel (the lyrics) while also fittingly sounding like a combination of African pop rhythms and Gabriel's effeminate vocal gymnastics. Except, you know, they use indie-pop's clean electric guitars, a keyboard, and a standard drum kit. They are 20-somethings from Brooklyn, after all.

But here's where the intersection of influence and energy plays a crucial role in making Vampire Weekend a cut above your average blog-hyped band. Any artist could probably sound eerily like Paul Simon (like they do on "One (Blake's Got a New Face)") at his most eccentric if they tried and practiced hard enough. However, the key words that popped into my head upon my first listen of Vampire Weekend were "effortless" and "precision," not "mimicry" or "slackness." They did not lazily put these songs together, lopping their listening habits in with their jam sessions. They took what they loved, let it flow naturally and very calculatedly through them to their fingertips and vocal chords, and the result is four guys getting genuinely excited about music, which is always refreshing, no matter how hard you try to deny it.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K DJ and volunteer.

Stream: Sorry, no track is available for free legal download. Listen to their songs at their official website.

Black Mountain

Into The Future

[Jagjaguwar]

The guy with the long hair and the impressive 'stache turned on his black light, closed his dorm room door and said, "turn the bass up and just...space out." At that moment, I wanted to be anywhere but there. Fast forward three years later: I'm listening to Black Mountain's self-titled debut and doing exactly what I thought I never wanted to do, minus the facial hair and trippy lighting setup. My hand reaches toward the equalizer, turns that low end up, then my body relaxes, and there I am...spacing out. To this day, now engulfed by their sophomore effort In the Future, the only band with sludge slathered on their guitars and haze permeating their keyboards that I can let overtake me is Black Mountain.

So what does Black Mountain do to convince even the staunchest naysayers of stoner rock; I mean, Coldplay handpicked them for an arena tour around the states for blog's sake. If you haven't experienced them yet, they will surely topple your musical world of divisions and expectations as you know it. They do it by socking you in the jaw before you can dismiss them. In the Future doesn't wait to achieve the apex of aural nirvana ? it smashes through with opener "Stormy High" like you've never heard an amp turned up to 11 before in your life. These five Canadians have discovered a cosmic, universal force where no matter who you are or what records you grew up with, you will listen to their music like your ears are just now properly working for the first time, lending you to give in to the awesome power of Black Mountain's magnitude and depth.

They do all this while still exhibiting respect for the listener needing to catch his/her breath, lightening their death grip on the dreamlike "Stay Free" or the short-and-sweet "Wild Wind." Naturally, however, the second paragraph hyperbole applies more so to the epic slow-burners "Tyrants" and "Bright Lights," both clocking in at way longer than your average rock song. While this and more are happening, the album's two knockouts still remain unmentioned: "Wucan" simmers and saunters with more flair than a Chotchky's vest and album closer "Night Walks" allows co-vocalist Amber Webber to shine, putting your ears to bed with her cautionary croon atop only a dissonant bed of organ and synth. Black Mountain's future is one where every song counts and no music lover goes unnourished - these 10 songs offer something for everyone, even if they're not breaking new genre ground.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K DJ and volunteer.

Stream: Black Mountain - Tyrants

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Black Mountain at the 7th Street Entry Monday, March 24th. ID/Doors 8pm.

Gospel Gossip

Sing Into My Mouth

[Guilt Ridden Pop]

It's hard not to love the shy rockers. They surprise you by having unequivocal amounts of genuine energy with none of the bravado that the genre was founded upon--it's charming without being precocious, and always warm and inviting. That's not to say that new local darlings Gospel Gossip are all flowers and puppies. In fact, the identifying factors that give the quartet a distinct edge are also that which distinguish them from your average pop-rock band that has fun with guitar pedals, or to use a term that has recently become overgeneralized and antiquated, shoegaze.

Projecting a unique aura of melancholy and experimentalism around these thirteen generally friendly and fuzzy songs, the Northfield band escapes this tag right off the bat with opening track "Home is Where The Hibah Is." Hovering at a low aural altitude with interlocking droning soundscapes for two-and-a-half minutes, piece by piece Gospel Gossip's speechless voice comes together: first a lo-fi guitar squeal, then a royally fuzzed out bass, and finally an ecstatic crash-laden cymbal orgy. Even as K hit "Revolutions in Physics" kick starts with a faster tempo, cleaner arrangement, and Sarah Neinaber's angel rocker voice, your ears are still recovering from hearing a genuinely new and simultaneously joyously familiar rock band coming out of Minnesota and not letting go for another 38 minutes.

As you listen through Sing Into My Mouth, underneath every crunchy quasi-dancey freakout, from the slow-burning epic "Lucky Lemmings" to the sugar-addled "Rainbow Magical," these three musicians relentlessly churn their hearts out with every note, never letting the thought of an 'audience' get in the way of their mission. If they want to let the guitar chug through the instrumental "Re-150" and wander through "Space Echo," leaving suspense build up for the next time Sarah's voice graces our ears, they will. Gospel Gossip so naturally ebb and flow like the best psych or post-rock artist, exuding both playfulness and despair, showing that sometimes the best way to experiment is to just follow your instincts.

Written by Chris Polley, Radio K DJ and volunteer.

Stream: Gospel Gossip - Revolutions in Physics

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Radio K Presents Gospel Gossip at the First Avenue Mainroom this Friday, January 18th as part of the Best New Bands of 2007 showcase. Doors at 7pm. 18+.