It’s no wonder that Girls Names is a duo out of Ireland, as their music almost pulses with the countries vibe. Though I’ve never been, and I’m sure to come off sounding daft, but from the opening booms of the tom-drum, I can almost feel the lush greens of the Irish countryside. Toss in those almost tribal sounding guitars lines and I’m breathing in the country air, staring out over the rolling, moss covered hills.
One might wonder why this sort of woodsy bit of propulsion was deemed “Graveyard”, but there’s a certain creaking haunt to lead-singers Cathay Cully’s voice that reminds one of a peat-covered tombstone, a fresh pile of dirt looming above it, a crowd of mourners drifting towards their cars. It’s creepy, but in that poppy way.
I find myself so often times stuck in a rut(?) of drone-y fuzz, and sharply punctuated garage rock, and thus when I a simpler bit of music catches my ear, I’m almost required to post it. Pitchfork turned me on to this Perfume Genius project by Mike Hadreas (a man I know nothing about) and the puddle underneath my feet is slowly growing bigger and bigger as a melt down in to it. It’s reminiscent of The Mountain Goats and Daniel Johnston in it’s unchecked waver and . It’s an epically told story of just about nothing. But Hell, when your nothing consists of Joy Division, weed, and a lovely man named Mr. Peterson, you’re contracted by the state of piano ballads to write a somber jingle.
Let me just say quickly that I’ve been completely silent on the whole slew of Sasquatch debates pummeling this fabulous site as of late. Why? Because, I live in SF and as wonderful as the hot sticky masses of Sasquatch ‘09 sound, I’m so pickled with jealousy, that I’m, oddly, silent. Forgive me my abstinence, it’s the best for my health.
To help pep me up a bit, I’ve been listening to Japandroids pretty consistently. I haven’t really figured out how much I love them yet. They seem too drastically tied to the resurgence of sort of emo-noise rock that’s been smashing on to the shores of, uh, Noah Beach recently, but they certainly have their own thrashy charm. Their new album caught a big a blast of hipster-cred in the kisser from Pitchfork, so I’m sure you’re scoffing at this post, and marking another check mark next to “Time’s Noah Missed The Boat” on your calender.
I’m done with just songs and concert previews. I’m moving in to the world of embedded video. I know stone age shit here, but it’s taken me a while to get use to watching concert footage, music videos on such on my computer, so this is a big healthy step for me.
Strangely enough, the oft-maligned Pitchfork has helped me change my thoughts on the matter as they’ve been releasing a series of just brilliant films and live concerts for the perusal of all. One of my favorite bands of the year so far Nodzzz put on this up-beat little set at The Market Hotel in New York and couldn’t help but share it.
Hey Pitchfork, I get it. You’ve established yourselves as the most critical mother fuckers on the internet… so, could you not aim for being the meanest too? As someone who writes about music, I get that there are albums you don’t like, hell I get it that there are albums you downright abhor. But this review is just mean.
And yeah, I like Noah and the Whale and their record, which you describe as “biting its best sensitive-indie forebears and then puking up all the most superficial chunks.” Eventually you proclaim the band should consider murder-suicide. And for someone who seems to get so little joy out of happy little pop songs, but all the joy in the world destroying those songs — we might recommend a similar path.
An album and a band doesn’t need to be transformative or replete with a thousand obscure influences to be worthy of a listen. So folks, ignore Pitchfork and take a listen to Noah and the Whale. They may not be the next Neutral Milk Hotel, but the record sure is fun fun fun!
Damn you Fleet Foxes and your full-length debut–that I cannot stop listening to. I have tried, but somehow, I have still managed to listen to the album a full six times through today-alone. Damn you and your perfect pacific northwest sound, which reminds me of church hymnals sung in cedar churches by earnest hippies. Damn the fact that Pitchfork gave the album a (deserved) 9.0, cementing its spot in the best of end of the year lists, guaranteeing that you will no longer going to be a sweet Seattle secret. But bless you for writing songs that soothe and salve. I thought it would be nearly impossible to top the beauty of “Mykonos” from the Sun Giant EP, but you’ve managed to do so with tunes like “Your Protector” and long time fan favorite “Oliver James.” The success really couldn’t happen to more deserving, talented fellows. So really, Congratulations.
Ugh, according to the all-knowing Pitchfork, Radiohead will be releasing a Greatest Hits cd come this spring. Granted the band has plenty of worth songs to be put on such a compilation, but Radiohead has never seemed the type to break albums in to singles or to be too concerned with “hits.”
But for the sake of discussion and since this is apparently a reality, what would you include on Radiohead’s Greatest Hits? My answers will be in the comments below.
Ever wonder what the band of two of the founding member’s of Pitchfork would sound like?
I most certainly have.
And I’m pleased to announce such a band sounds hilarious and refreshingly free of the high minded seriousness often associated with Pitchfork. (who, as mentioned before… we like just fine… please no hate mail.)
Said band is Sissy Boy Slap Party, a two piece recorded on a “lousy Panasonic Tape Recorder” by Jason Josephes and Ryan Schreiber circa 1996/1997.
Schreiber is still with Pitchfork, while Josephes (JJ) is now our friendly booker and sound guy at the wonderful Blue Moon Tavern and keyboardist in my beloved Hopscotch Boys.
Stop by the MySpace- take a listen and enjoy a laugh.
Gotta appreciate Bjork for the artistry of every aspect of her releases. Today, with a full interview about the art of the album and the track list, is the ever helpful Pitchfork. But here’s the cover of Volta, which at least one Sound on the Sound reader will be very happy to see.
Again, Pitchfork and I have beef. I’ve spent quite some time, let’s say two weeks, mulling over just how to extol the virtues of The Shins latest release, Wincing The Night Away. And I’ve got bupkiss. In fact I got one measley line down, something like ‘if you needed my review to convince you to buy the Shins third release you are probably a lost cause anyway.’
Pitchfork, on the other hand, reviewed 5 albums today, January 22nd. Three of them, including a compilation (yes one of those “Various Artists”) got higher ratings than The Shins, who clocked in at a somewhat dismal 7.0. Which left me yelling at my monitor: Really Pitchfork?! A 7? And a 7.0?! No extra half a point? Not even a .3?
Thus, in solidarity with…myself; I stand by my initial review:
The following are my top five reasons why it’s impossible to write a review, much less a critique, of Wincing The Night Away:
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