Author: Eric Saeger

Rain Rabbit, Rain Rabbit (self-released)

So some guy from Chicago named Kyle Brauch sent me a random email to try to get some attention for his new, totally done-it-himself album. Usually I only focus on such things when it’s a local band, but what got me was his politely excited overuse of exclamation points (“Don’t hesitate to contact me if there’s anything else I can provide!”). Enthusiasm is always just grand, isn’t it, folks? No? Well, it’s better than when newbie bands tell me they’re trying to “garner reviews from great writers such as yourself.” I want to ask them, “‘Garner’, you say? Are you an awesome band, or are you literally trying to ‘raise my ire’?” But regardless, this is actually a decent album, sort of an advanced approach to ’80s radio-pop, starting with opener “Holding On” and — well, everything else. There’s a Hall & Oates/Aldo Nova side to this stuff that was believed extinct. At least by me, I mean. Oh, you get the picture. It’s great for what it is. A

Bedroom, Stray (self-released)

Droopy but basically palatable weird-beard-pop album from Noah Kittinger, who launched this project when he was 16. The main selling point is Kittinger’s voice, which touches on Grizzly Bear and whatever other Beach Boys-dipped Aughts-era album you might be able to stomach, but his go-to vocal sound is more akin to that of Junip’s José González (who I believe is much more renowned for guesting on Zero 7’s 2007 album The Garden, not that I’d ever fight someone over it), or, if you’re old, Gilbert O’Sullivan (of the 1972 mega-hit “Alone Again [Naturally]”). That’s a nice sourball sound, and it literally rescues something like half of these songs, which are glitch-chill with not enough glitch. I mean, it’s fine with me if an artist wants to interrupt songs with irritating demonstrations of beginner-level synth-edginess, but that stuff doesn’t increase its shelf-life, not when there are plenty of bands that go all-out with it and still remain melodic. May I be excused now? B-

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• May 14 is the next general CD release day, and so I must depart the safety and people-shunning zen of my underground lair and venture out once again into the realm of new albums, in the hope of locating some music that isn’t refried, remixed, derivative, contrived or just plain awful. There are many hipsters afoot this week, so let’s first stop and try to gauge what Akron, Ohio-based garage band Black Keys are trying to accomplish with Delta Kream, their upcoming 10th album! Ah, it is a collection of “hill country blues” cover songs, which makes sense. I mean, if you were a skinny jeans-wearing, Reddit-browsing band from Ohio, really the only music you would be familiar with is music from America’s hill country, a region of northern Mississippi bordering Tennessee, am I right? No? Whatever, let’s just go with it; I’m seeing semi-famous names being bandied about here, such as R. L. Burnside’s guitarist Kenny Brown, as well as separate entries from Junior Kimbrough and his bassist Eric Deaton. What, you haven’t heard of them either? OK, that’s a win-win, let’s wrap this up quickly, then, but remember, old songs about mud and snakes and whatever are really cool, because — well, you know, because. There are covers of John Lee Hooker songs, including his version of “Crawling Kingsnake,” which is pretty awesome as far as throwback-chill-blues go. The video was filmed in front of Jimmy Duck Holmes’ Blue Front Café, which is the oldest active juke joint in America. You don’t care? Well that isn’t very awesome of you, but OK, moving on.

• Mind the rocky terrain, Rocinante’s Fail, my backside already hurts from this quest for decent music, and in fact if you’ll stop for some nice water and oats or whatever donkeys eat, I’ll investigate more hipsterism, from this new Chills album, Scatterbrain! These guys are a jangle-pop indie band from New Zealand, and they break up pretty often, which means they are good, because jangle-pop bands should break up as often as possible. What’s this then, the latest single is called “Destiny.” In a nutshell, it’s Belle & Sebastian but with whatsisname’s masculine, half-whispered voice. At least it’s analog, but then again, who could make sleepy Buddy Holly-sounding music with digital equipment, am I right? It would accidentally sound like Tiesto, I think, don’t you?

• I know I just recently talked about a Juliana Hatfield album in Retro Playlist, but she has a new one coming out soon, titled Blood. Yes, she is cool, because she was in The Lemonheads and she’s done records with Paul Westerberg, but let’s listen to the new single, “Mouthful Of Blood” and check in! Well wow, it is an OK song, jangly and mildly riot-grrrl-ish. No, she doesn’t actually sound very edgy, but if you like bands like Dinosaur Jr. or whatever, you’ll probably like this.

• Wrapping up the week is Seattle indie-schlub Damien Jurado’s new LP The Monster Who Hated Pennsylvania, led off by a single called “Helena!” This guy looks like an accountant and sings like one too; this is shuffle-y folkie chill, sort of like Sun Kil Moon but more awkward and accountant-y.

Retro Playlist

Exactly 10 years ago this space was focused on a bunch of new albums, including Give Till It’s Gone, which at the time was the new one from weird-beard-culture icon Ben Harper. Putting all snark aside, I tried to assure my readership that the album “was totally not rushed out to help pay Harper’s legal bills in his divorce from pointy-nosed David Lynch muppet Laura Dern,” because if I’d said it actually was rushed out in order to pay some L.A. lawyer, people would have started distrusting the entertainment industry, maybe even taken a long look at why anyone would buy a Ben Harper album in the first place (“The hard-rockin’ Neil Young-inspired kickoff single “Rock N Roll Is Free” highlights the Joey Ramone aspects of Harper’s voice, because you should always put your weakest foot forward.”).
But all was not baseless trolling of unfairly popular indie-folk-whatevers that week. The main thrust involved two albums, one of which was an emo thing, Yellowcard’s When You’re Through Thinking Say Yes. My review of that one was a random jumble of hatred for their usual freshly showered “power pop” (I really need to take a few minutes someday and just write a quick software program that writes reviews of emo albums, all of which would be variations on what I said about this one: “… there is, as always, little to say about this sort of album aside from ‘at least such-and-so is a good song’). My one-line closer was pretty good, though, if I say so myself: “Beach music for future stars of Teen Mom.”
There was also an arena-dinosaur band on tap, namely old Scottish butt-kickers Nazareth, with Big Dogz. I think this was the band’s last LP before singer Dan McCafferty died, and it was a valiant effort, if a bit too (predictably) bluesy, like the fellas were trying to recapture the non-magic of the muddy, truck-drivin’ bar-band nonsense of their (not awesome) older albums, the ones they made before (the totally awesome) Hair Of The Dog. Nevertheless, McCafferty did turn in a couple of badass rockouts (OK, actually one, “Lifeboat”), and in the end it’s a nice, messy, caterwauling effort.

Slinky Vagabond, King Boy Vandals (self-released)

The core of this punk-pop (in the real, actual sense) crew comprises Keanan Duffty (a fixture in the NYC punk underground who helped to style David Bowie, Sex Pistols and others) and Italian producer/rock musician Fabio Fabbri. Something like 100 years of punk/’80s/whatnot experience went into this, and it gets pretty nasty (in a good way), alternately evoking early David Bowie space-ballads (“The Beauty In You”), barely tamed New York Dolls-ish raunch-blues welded to Killers post-arena-rawk (“Prima Donna”), ’70s roots-punk experimentation (“Old Boy”) and so on. If you’re young, one RIYL touchstone would be Guided By Voices, being that there’s that Beatles edge to the singing, but it’s all delightfully messy really. All told, there’s really nothing an OG-punk purist could possibly dislike about this thing. It would probably translate a million times better on vinyl, true, but its analog purity emerges even through digital media, with fuzzy guitars bleeding right into the sloppily miked hi-hat and such. Like the LOLCats say, moar plaese. A+

Cheap Trick, In Another World (BMG Records)

As everyone knows, 99.9 percent of the albums released by old-school 1960s-1980s arena-rock bands have been embarrassingly bad. But then there’s this American four-piece, fronting like an actual living coelacanth in an ocean carpeted with extinct dinosaur fossils, not because they can still “rock out” (in other words, add way too much blues-rock to a recipe that became invalid the minute the earliest tech/rap groups crawled out of the primordial ooze) but because their songwriting formula, strictly aimed at the Billboard charts as ever, is eternal. There’s a trick to it, you see, writing perfect, simple pop music for general taste, and Cheap Trick’s leader, Rick Nielsen, is a Picasso at it. This isn’t Live At Budokan, but we’re not living in 1977, so it’ll just have to do, a thick patchwork quilt of melodic perfection that I’d envision reading like complicated prog-rock to Zoomers, an endless parade of summer-hormonal joy. Singer Robin Zander is still goofily brash, stressing the long “R” sounds on his lines like an idiot (“Here Comes The Summer”), but that’s part of the magic. A+

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Friday, May 7, is the next day when we would traditionally see a bunch of new CD releases from awesome bands and whatever twerking Roombas you troublemaking Zoomers have convinced yourselves should count as music. But who knows, maybe there will be no new albums at all, and we can compare Rice Krispies Treats recipes while we wait for the next five Covid variants to pass through town and keep us all stuck at home forever, trying to find something that doesn’t suck on Netflix (ha ha, there is no such thing). Nope, there are albums, the first of which is Van Weezer, from geek-rock superstars Weezer! The band’s leader, Rivers Cuomo, has said that Weezer’s audience is “probably ready for some shredding again,” a fact he gleaned by finally noticing that the crowd would freak whenever he played a totally shreddy guitar solo during live performances of “Beverly Hills,” and that’s how the whole idea of totally rocking out with new nerd-metal music came to be. I can’t wait to hear it, although I think I already talked about this stuff when the first variant of Covid was still leaving people confused about whether or not it was airborne and all that stuff. Ho ho ho, remember those days, when we didn’t know anything, and we were all watching the movie Contagion on endless loop just to freak ourselves out, so much family fun! Whatever, the newest single. “Hero,” is your basic mid-tempo AC/DC b-side, and actually, you know what’s weird, a lot of the time on this song, Cuomo sings like the dude from Goo Goo Dolls. It’s OK I suppose, not the They Might Be Giants-style hard-emo I was expecting.

• And speaking of hard-rock whatevers, in a weird scene, Nancy Wilson, the guitarist from million-year-old arena-rawk-band Heart, sort of broke up the band when she had some sort of problem with her sister (and original Heart singer) Ann’s son and made a scene. There was angry-emoji drama, and now Nancy has a solo album, called You And Me, coming out this week. Will it be old-school Heart, like when they were into Freudian symbolism and hobbits, or latter-day Heart, like when they tried to be female Michael Boltons? I don’t know, which is why I’m going to go to YouTube and listen to the album’s title track. Hm, the song is a Zeppelin III-ish folk-rock ballad. It is OK, but she needs to end her beef with her sister, because Nancy can’t sing very well. That’s not to say she’s a bad person.

• For people who still remember actual dancing in smelly clubs, look, there’s a new album called When God Was Great from The Mighty Mighty Bosstones! I love their spazzy music, it’s so perfect for watching family-friendly high-jinks like Gritty the Philadelphia Flyers mascot throwing pies at little kids and weighing in on political subjects he cares nothing about, just like everyone else on this uninhabitable planet! I’m sure their new song “The Final Parade” is spazzy and spittle-flecked — yes, it is, not like their big idiotic ska-punk-whatever hit “The Impression That I Get,” but nevertheless it is perfect for drinking and throwing pies, absolutely.

• In closing I’d like to say that there is a new Van Morrison album coming out, called Latest Record Project: Volume 1. If there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s this guy’s fedora-hat accountant-pop, so I will recuse myself from talking about whatever stupid nonsense is on this stupid album and tell you to enjoy!

Retro Playlist

Retro-ing back to this week in 2013, Atlanta-based indie band Deerhunter was about to release their sixth LP, Monomania, and the first sighting, the title track, boded well. The title-track teaser was like the previous album’s single “Coronado” on angel dust, “totally wigged-out Iggy-garage craziness that’s almost like Warlocks but without the skronk — no, it’s almost like the first Horrors album but without the speed.” I posited that most indie dweebs would “probably run and hide behind [their] stacks of twee records, but this song will eventually find you and get you drunk.”

Anyway, one of the two featured CDs that week was one that — and you won’t believe this — is still kept in my car in case the missus and I are in the mood for a little goth. That one is Ministry of Love, the debut (and unfortunately only) full-length from Los Angeles boy-girl industrial-shoegaze duo Io Echo, which opened for Nine Inch Nails, toured with Bloc Party and Garbage, and did other fun things. Sort of like Asteroids Galaxy Tour but a lot more heavy on the shoegaze, the album opens with “Shanghai Girls,” a slow, methodical, epic shot of shock and awe, evoking nothing less than the queen of outer space come to take hold of our planet. But that’s not all. “’When the Lilies Die’,” I blathered, “is an even better song than that, just … alien, for lack of a better word, and thus one can’t help but notice that the duo’s band name isn’t just for show, it’s about aural integrity.” RIP, awesome band. I just can’t ever win.

New York hipsters Postelles were also under the microscope that week, with their third-or-whatever LP, And It Shook Me. This dreary slog of a band actually formed at a New York City prep school. You can probably guess how it went. “The hooks aren’t subtle, they’re boring,” spat I, “though not hopelessly bubblegummy, a debatable saving grace when everything here sounds like it came from a bunch of politely tiresome potential boyfriends from your basic episode of Girls working out their manias du jour.” Ayuh, pretty hurtin’.

Subterranean Masquerade, Mountain Fever (Sensory Records)

As you’d guess by a band name like Subterranean Masquerade, we have an oddball foreign act on tap here. It’s the fourth full-length from an Israel-based seven-piece billed as a progressive metal band with world overtones, all of which is true, a straightforward power-metal thingamajig with Middle Eastern plug-ins. The Spinal Tap-ish shtick I expected didn’t run too late, but that’s not necessarily to infer that your average metal-head wouldn’t be into this, particularly anyone who thinks of bands like Bury Your Dead as high art, or digs, on the swirling sandstorm front, Dracovallis. It’s not opera-metal for sure, either, although I can tell these guys would love it to be; no, it’s more po-faced, think ’80s Michael Schenker Group with (take a wild guess) Serj Tankian as its sensei. Like any metal album, I’m sure that if you cranked this to physically dangerous levels, it, you know, probably cranks, and I didn’t detect anything stolen from Scorpions or any of those other old bands, so who knows, you might like it. B

Poppy, “Eat” (as yet unreleased)

Doing something different here, adding a little hype to a pile that’s fast building around this Boston-based singer, whose performance of this up-till-now-unreleased single was about the only thing indicative of a pulse at the last Grammys. The 24-year-old YouTuber is further (unnecessary) proof that we’ve entered a new, post-Gaga era of rock stardom, one that revolves around not just making cool songs and videos but also engaging directly with audiences on a daily basis by being, well, absolutely demented. Fans at home can play too, because as you know, nowadays, the concept of DIY isn’t just for bands with a few dollars with which to rent a studio but for basically anybody to become whatever they want. This song isn’t as remarkable as a few of her earlier tunes (go watch the video for “I Disagree” if you want to hear a cross between older Nine Inch Nails, Meshuggah and riot-grrrl-on-crazy-juice), but it does stick with her genre-squishing mission statement. It’s an undeniably accessible but hellaciously heavy noise-whirlwind, like KMFDM jamming with (spoiler) Meshuggah (she obviously looooves those guys). The only thing surprising is that it took so long for something like this to bust out of the gate. A+

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Well would you look at that, guys, the new-release list for April 30 actually has interesting stuff on it, not just a bunch of refried hacky nonsense that makes me want to become a hardened day-drinker. I know that very few people reading this know a lot about indie bands, but Atlanta-based Manchester Orchestra is one you might want to look into, unless you are a typical hipster who only indulges in really bad, smelly junk like Pavement or Versus or whatever. The caveat, though, is that I haven’t listened to a new Manchester Orchestra song in something like five years, so for all I know The Million Masks Of God is going to be one of the worst listening experiences a human could have, and so we’ll get this out of the way first, so that if it makes me barf I’ll have time to recover. So I’m checking out “Bedhead,” the new single, and nope, thou shalt not barf, because it is like what you’d hear if Trent Reznor teamed up with someone like Front Line Assembly to do a soundtrack piece for Stranger Things. It has a buzzy noise-rock side but also a veneer of classic ’80s-technopop, with goofy synths that sound kind of neat. The singer still has that Conor Oberst throat-lozenge sound, which has always been cool. I don’t know if they meant to go goth-pop, but that’s what this is really. It’s OK!

• Oh, no, it’s Guided by Voices again, with another freakin’ album, just because it’s a month that doesn’t end with a “J” or whatever rule bandleader Robert Pollard goes by. I mean, we’ve talked about him before, how he puts out albums all the time, and here I am again, getting suckered into giving him some press love only because I forgot that he doesn’t deserve any. But it’s those things you forget, you know? Like, every time I swipe through the Netflix releases I actually stop to read the description for I Am Not Okay With This and then quickly remember it’s stupid and I’ll never watch it (Netflix really needs to add an option to remove stupid movies from lists to save people some time) (OK, if they’ve already done that and I just don’t know it yet, I applaud your genius-level technical acumen and urge you to apply to NASA to help them build better space shuttles). Oh, where were we. Yes, Earth Man Blues, album number eleventy trillion from this stupid band. One of Pollard’s million new songs is “Trust Them Now.” Spoiler, it’s boring, like Ramones but with a singer who was in some ’60s psychedelic band, and (double spoiler) it doesn’t have a hook. Would y’all groovy trippy cats like to shag now, or shag later, my God I hate this band.

• Yow, my little Zippys, looky there, it’s Boston-sports-affiliated Irish-oi band Dropkick Murphys, with their new “slab,” called Turn Up That Dial! You bet your shamrocks there’s a new single, to lure you in, and it’s called… wait, I can’t repeat the title in a family newspaper, so how about the other song, “Middle Finger!” Will there be penny-whistles and Titanic-lower-deck accordions and mentions of Bobby Orr? Yup, same old thing, sea-shanty kazoo or whatever at the beginning, then some thrash-punk. At least they’re consistent (burp).

• OK, let’s end this miserable exercise with Scottish sludge-emo band Teenage Fanclub, whose new album Endless Arcade will have “Used — Like New” prices on Amazon in like a week. The single, “Home,” is wimpy strummy twee-pop, not grunge-indie or whatever. My faith is deeply shaken, folks.

Retro Playlist

It was 10 years ago this week in this very space when I felt it necessary to explain why I wasn’t going to write a proper review of the then-new Gorillaz album, The Fall. I forget what my problem was, but either way, that virtual band has never done it for me, nor have any of their skinny-jeans cohorts, you know, MGMT, Modest Mouse and whatever. For some idiotic reason, most of the guys in The Clash guested on that record, but nevertheless, a lot of critics didn’t like it. I saved us all some time: “I’ve heard the samples, and my instincts tell me that downloading the other 45 minutes of it ‘to get the full effect’ will yield disappointment.” Disclaimer that I don’t — and you should be well aware of this by now — hate everything that came out in the Aught-10s, but oddly enough, that was when I became an adamant, immovable 1930s/1940s big-band fan. Yes, rock ’n’ roll had become that messed up and worthless. For the most part.

But there was some joy in Mudville that so-long-ago week. Undeveloped, a darkwave/techno-goth album from Skinny Puppy frontman Ohgr, was on the docket, so I ranted spastically about how awesome it was (“’Nitwitz is my favoritest song ever, for today”), not that that meant it was perfect. Even with longtime Skinny Puppy engineer Mark Walk helping out, there was some weirdness that was too much, specifically in “Crash,” a denouncement of U.S. health care (the actual 911 call that came in when Michael Jackson died).

Magnetic Man, the dubstep all-star team of Benga, Skream and Artwork, were also in the process of releasing their self-titled debut that week. It was way cool and deserved better than the C+ grade I slapped on it, but as a techno work, yeah, there were some bothersome things. Overall, it came across as “a term paper for Ableton Hipness 101,” boasting only one legitimate club-slammer (“I Need Air”). Consisting of “Salem-style haunted house, drum-n-bass, Justice hard-glitch and euro-club orchestrations in a manner less consistent with melodic appropriateness than with decorum,” it apparently bothered me then a lot more than it does now. Oopsy daisy.

Robots Of The Ancient World, “Mystic Goddess” (Small Stone Records)

As you know, I’ve been disappointed many times by bands advertised as “doom metal” or “stoner” acts. It’s always the same: I press play on the promo record hoping to hear something that’s even half as crazed (and mildly proggish) as Black Sabbath’s Sabotage album, but it’s never that; it’s either hipster-barfed Queens Of The Stone Age nonsense, Candlemass mollusk-gloom or Wino Weintraub-level Ozzy karaoke (Wolves In The Throne Room was one rare exception). This, though, is cool. I’m jumping the gun here by writing up the title track single (the album’s due May 21), but that right-arrow “play” button was too tempting for me to resist. This Seattle-or-thereabouts-based quintet aren’t as prog as mid-’70s Sabbath, but they do want to impress the metal dudes with their arms crossed in the back row, which they accomplish through a next-level feel for polyrhythms a la Jane’s Addiction, but with more poly to the rhythm. Their first album was great, so I have every expectation that the balance forward on this one will be pretty neat-o as well. A+

Hugh Manwell, Guidance (self-released)

This came to my attention from my jazz-promotion space, but it comes off more like an attempt at an a capella indie project. Manwell, a New York City multi-instrumentalist, is responsible for every sound on this album, all the drums, trumpet, saxophone, bass, guitar, piano and synths. He’s capable enough at all of them, and you have to hand it to him for the effort. But while the line on this record promised a “big band” style effort, it’s mostly far from that, even if opening tune “Welcome To The Show” does have an overarching vibe of torchy, Night They Raided Minsky’s burlesque to it. The balance forward is a mesh of many things, though, very little of it big band. Manwell obviously digs stuff like J Dilla, Gorillaz, 1970s-period Miles Davis, probably even Steely Dan; his mercurial attention wanders to so many different retro urban influences that the record eventually emerges as one that wants to be something completely different. Toward that, it’s certainly ambitious, put it that way. B

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Hey guys, what the heck’s the name of that stupid TV show where a crew of fishermen go out on a boat during weather that’s right out of The Perfect Storm, where they laugh and punch themselves in the face and keel-haul each other while pulling up giant nets crawling with 3-foot lobsters and man-eating devil-crabs? Oh right, it’s the Deadliest Catch show. For me, that’s basically what every week is like, but in a musical sense, when I look through my emails. Just like those crab dudes, every week, I hold my nose, punch myself in the face, and go see what new albums are coming out, just so you rotten little trolls can point and laugh while tedious trust-fund hipster-crabs pinch my ears and dreadful thrash-metal lobsters just cold clamp down on my you-know-what. We’ll start this week’s ill-fated expedition with Sweep It Into Space, the new album from ancient semi-retired semi-punks Dinosaur Jr, streeting on April 23! I was never into punk bands that weren’t really all that punk-sounding, so you’ll have to forgive my not being able to identify which old “relevant era” Dinosaur Jr tune the new single, “I Ran Away,” rips off. After a loping, jangly intro part, an uneventful chorus part comes in, which of course follows the formula of every song written in the ’90s.

• Also for April 23, famous Las Vegas singing organism Tom Jones is still around, which means there’s hope for humanity, because he saved everyone in Mars Attacks, and whatever, I think he’s awesome. Check it, yo, he’s 80 years old but looks like a teddy bear version of Larry Ellison, maybe even Robert Downey Jr. Since he’s not really a songwriter, his new album, Surrounded by Time, will mostly feature cover songs, including a rub of Todd Snider’s “Talking Reality Television Blues,” a six-minute opus about pop culture nonsense and whatnot. Jones mostly does a William Shatner on this one, not really singing, just trying to talk-sing like Johnny Cash, you know the deal. Yes, it’s epic.

• Field Music is an art-rock/prog-pop type of band from England that’s counted in its ranks members of such acts as Maxïmo Park and The Futureheads. Oh, whatever, they’re sort of like Todd Rundgren or Prefab Sprout, so if such names trigger a Pavlovian response in your physiology, by all means go and drool on a Field Music CD, just not in front of me please (many people dig them, of course, which is probably why they broke up for a few years). Flat White Moon is their latest album, and — whoa, I’ve always wanted to say this: Stop the presses! The single “Orion From The Street” is like what you’d get if Wire rewrote Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere.” This is so awesome I can’t even stand it. Holy expletive. You should pay actual money for this.

• We’ll end this week’s torment with the second album from Porter Robinson, called Nurture, and now I’ll read the Wiki to see if I shouldn’t have just skipped this bit. Hm, blah blah blah, he’s an electronic musician. He has a new single, called “Musician,” if this stupid ad with Ryan Reynolds will ever — ah, here we are. It’s bloopy and chopped, with unintelligible chipmunk vocals, basically your average Orbital album-filler song.

Retro Playlist

Ten years ago this week, the thrust of this column was aimed at a couple of big-name albums, which we’ll get to in a second, but there was a local boy making good as well, namely Hampton singer-guitarist dude Doug Wheaton, who had just released a self-titled solo album for his Slow Burn project. I was mildly sucked in from the start, when his press sheet asked, “Tired of wimpy emo guys in tight pants playing sensitive, quirky ballads on beaten up acoustic guitars? Need more power chords in your life? Then the nine songs I have posted are right up your alley.” It’s still around on his ReverbNation space, including the tune “24 Hours,” which sounds sort of like what would happen if David Byrne was in Los Lobos.

That week I also talked about the new Airborne Toxic Event album, All At Once, which found those rawk dudes casting off their Arcade Fire-ish indie shackles and just cold going for it. I noted “if Cold War Kids had been an ’80s band that dug Joy Division, this could’ve easily come of it.” It was nice to see that they had “reinvented themselves as a cultural vacuum cleaner bag, touching on Bruce, Neil Diamond, Lords of the New Church, Gavin Rossdale, U2, Goo Goo Dolls, Big Country, and Simple Minds, [i.e.] almost everyone who’s ever ‘mattered’, while wafting a somewhat dark edge.”

There was also a new k.d. lang album afoot that week, called Sing It Loud. After explaining how she’s basically a female Roy Orbison, I pronounced that this record found her “not just channeling but actually becoming Orbison, in a way, which isn’t all that strange.” Lots of organic feel to this record, which made it super nice. “Easily the most stunning thing on the album,” I stanned breathlessly, “is the deep-and-rich refrain of the banjo-dotted ‘Habit of Mind,’ which is too divine for the soccer-mom niche it’ll be pointed at.”

Xiu Xiu, Oh No (Polyvinyl Records)

One usually doesn’t associate San Jose with experimental music, but Jamie Stewart has been producing just that out of the area for 19 years at last count. He’s been the only constant, although keyboardist and drum-programmer Angelo Seo has been a constant for several releases now, including this one. If you need some sort of touchstone, producing Stewart’s albums was a guilty pleasure of Deerhoof’s Greg Saunier, but Deerhoof-worship sure isn’t what’s afoot here. It’s a mercurial mixed bag of weirdness, in which Stewart sings deconstructionist-savvy duets with a bunch of different singers, including the aforementioned Saunier, Chelsea Wolfe and Alice Bag (Haley Fohr is particularly unlistenable here); his tentative, Norman Bates-style vocal is an acquired taste, as is his fetish for nonsense vocals, but this should work for you if you like things like the Swans when they’re in intelligible mode. Plenty of glitch and industrial noise, and for the most part it comprises billowy clouds of goth-ish mood-fog, but as always with this project, the record’s impossible to nail down in a couple of paragraphs. B

Johnny Thunders, “Chinese Rocks” (Die Laughing/ Golden Robot Records)

Warmup single for the forthcoming exclusive live album Cosa Nostra: Live At The Mudd Club 1983 Gothenburg, a Swedish live set from the former New York Dolls guitarist. Thunders was a tragic figure who grew up a fatherless outsider in Queens, N.Y., turned his back on a promising baseball career and died very mysteriously and way too soon. This song has been a staple anthem of original New York punk rockers for many decades now, written by Richard Hell and Dee Dee Ramone and first appearing on the 1977 album L.A.M.F. by Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers. The lyrics revolve around a drug reference that’s become almost quaint over time in some hyper-hip circles (the guys were trying to out-cool Lou Reed’s “Heroin”), and by the way, it was redone by the Ramones on their End Of The Century album. With regard to the quality of this release, well, it’s less than boombox-level, which one would expect for something this old and that was probably recorded on a cassette recorder by a roadie who never wanted the responsibility. But as such, it’s a priceless artifact. A+

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• Where does the time go, I ask non-rhetorically, because look, guys, the next general CD release date is April 16! Since 80 percent of New Hampshirites love them some hard rock, we’ll kick off this week’s episode with none other than Led Zeppelin Mini-Me band Greta Van Fleet, with their new album The Battle At Garden’s Gate! As you know, these guys are nowhere near as adept at repackaging Zep as Fantastic Negrito (I think I heard Negrito won a Grammy this year, but my delicate constitution was, as always, too touchy to sit through all the twerking imbecility of the Grammys, so I’m just going by some headline I scrolled past while looking to poach some Twitter followers), but they sure are the next best thing to Negrito, if by “the next best thing” you mean “not even close, but at least I don’t feel horrible while it’s playing.” But hey, hilarious title, The Battle At Garden’s Gate, huh? There’s some meme that shows a pie graph of Zeppelin songs, showing that 30 percent of them are about sex, 68 percent are about hobbits, and 2 percent are about citrus fruits, and that’s all true, but these guys’ idea of a hobbit-style title — repeat, The Battle At Garden’s Gate — sounds like something you’d receive in a Loot Box when you were actually hoping for a 12-inch action figure of Gandalf just cold taking out a dragon with his light saber bow staff or whatever it is. But wait folks, that’s not all! The first single, “Age of Machine,” pickpockets tuneage from The Pretenders, Zep’s Houses of the Holy album, and some other Zeppelin thing, who cares. Now, granted, they do totally sound like a reincarnated version of Zep from 1971, but a version of Zep that grew up listening to Pennywise and Weird Al, not 1920s blues and whatnot. Oh, we’ve talked about this before, let’s just move it along here.

• Well, looky there, fam, it’s Let The Bad Times Roll, the new album from snotty Poindexter punks The Offspring! You remember them, with all their songs, you know, those songs that all just sound like remixed versions of “Come Out And Play.” (Sorry to bring that up, gang, really. Now the only way you’ll be able to get the line “you gotta keep ’em separated” out of your head is to go into the Apple store and shout it in the face of their Paul Blart at the top of your lungs.) So the title track is basically just the “Keep ’em separated” thing but a version played by a total ska band. Sublime comes to mind. OK, people, stay awake, let’s proceed.

• Until now, London Grammar was known as a dream-pop band, and that may have been true, but the title track from the British trio’s new album Californian Soil is trip-hop, not dream pop. It’s kind of nice, a cross between Mazzy Star and Florence and The Machine, but it’s not dream-pop. The video for the tune is pure Nylon-bait, an empty high-fashion statement with people dressed all spiffy whilst chilling out in scenes of ruin and upside-down people and whatnot.

• Lastly and rest assuredly leastly, it’s mummified video game boss villain Paul McCartney, with something mysteriously titled McCartney III Imagined! What does this all mean? Nothing really, from my seat, like the first single, “Kiss of Venus,” is basically an ’80s-pop song as redone by Justin Bieber, because it has a feat from mini-Bieber Dominic Fike. I can’t imagine anyone will actually dig this aside from the record company’s Like-bots, but have at it if you like.

Retro Playlist

Let’s go back to eight years ago this week or so, when the big news was the release of Life On A Rock, the 16th album from guitar-strumming cowboy person Kenny Chesney. I reported that the leadoff single, “Pirate Flag,” is a “mid-tempo number which has some banjo on there,” a “sleepy nondescript song about being a country boy” but at least wasn’t meant as a “WWE wrestling entrance theme like all the other garbage coming out of Nashville, even if it does remind me a little too much of Tom Petty’s ‘Mary Jane’s Last Dance,’” which was OK, as “Chesney’s old and rich enough not to care about unimportant little details like originality, who cares.”

The real meat of that long-ago potato, though, was a look at Paula Cole’s Raven album. The bummer thing about it was that Cole, “a Rockport, Mass., native who studied at Berklee and actually made something out of that training” unlike most, actually had to throw a Kickstarter in order to get enough money to release the album. OK, Cole was never meant to be the next Joni Mitchell or whatever, but she did table a couple of really nice hits, namely “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone” and the Dawson’s Creek theme song “I Don’t Want to Wait.” I do like that lady, and opined that her songs, although a bit long in running time, were “opuses of solitude, and her talent for haunting beauty is still there,” finishing with the bullet “Instant musical oatmeal for discriminating soccer moms.”

The other great one for April 18, 2013, was a world music joint, the self-titled debut from South African beatbox band The Soil. It’s a deeply immersive LP, mostly sung in their native (Sowego) dialect, “a warm, uninhibited set of (barely) rock-tinged a cappella hymns which, the band believes, come directly from God.” I’m too lazy to see if they got a Grammy nod for this record, but it did go well-deserved platinum in their corner of the world.

Kill The Giants, “The Prophet” (Nub Records)

Test-drive title track from the upcoming fifth album from the Saint Albans, U.K.-based genre-mashing band, which is — and I’m told this actually means something — fronted by Mark Christopher Lee of The Pocket Gods. This was buzzed to me as a concoction of “beatbox, classical, world music, rock and EDM,” whereas Irish zine Hotpress said it mixed thrash metal, hip-hop, classical and world music. All told, it looked good on paper, so here we are, me with a little egg on my face. There are some interesting samples (a 1950s big-movie chorus, it sounds like; some sitar, etc.), but where I was expecting something really trippy and hard-ass along the lines of God Lives Underwater or even Pendulum, the choppy, rather amateurish guitar line sounded like something out of a Woodstock retrospective on C-tier warmup bands. So yeah, there are a few influences buzzing around, but they don’t come together to blow minds. I mean, it’s OK, but, you know, whatever. B-

Arthur King, Changing Landscapes [Isle of Eigg] (AKP Recordings)

A little inside baseball: I didn’t get along well with the last public relations person to pitch me albums on the Dangerbird Records label. This person got mad at me when I dismissed one of their stupid albums as “hipster oatmeal” or whatever I said, probably something rotten. That takes us to here, with a new PR guy (whom I really like) and an album from a Dangerbird imprint, AKP Recordings. The deal with the bracketed title is that Arthur King is a mixed-media aggregator who recruits artists, musicians and whatnot to put on immersive shows. The third such production in his Changing Landscapes series is this one, where “participants will enter a spatial interpretation of the Scottish Isle of Eigg,” viewing projected images and such while this soundtrack plays (loudly). Weirdness abounds, friends, yes, weirdness abounds, as first-up track “An Sgurr” combines jagged ear-test sound-age, random conversations and a crowing rooster. That would be fine, but the subwoofer-begging electronic percussion does become literally barf-inducing; it simply digs right into the eardrum and will surely make a few visitors bail on the exhibit. Elsewhere it’s more user-friendly: half-plugged guitars and soothing synth lines leading into Flaming Lips-ish reverb-electro on “Laig Beach,” near-danceable glitch on “Eigg Beach.” B

PLAYLIST

A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases

• I actually have good news with regard to the collection of CDs that will be released on April 9, and it even revolves around one of those super-old bands that should have retired to do AARP commercials years ago. Yes, friends, I speak of 1970s half-joke-band Cheap Trick, whose new album, In Another World, is on the way! You may not know it, but those weirdos have been hanging around with none other than Ministry, helping Papa Al Satan make rebellious albums about smashing the state and whatnot, and guess what, Jello Biafra from Dead Kennedys was on one of those albums as well, all of which means that it’s so cool that your hand would instantly freeze if you touched the jewel case! This is a happy coincidence as well, because my favorite song over the last few weeks has been “Reach Out,” a totally demented tune Cheap Trick contributed to the Heavy Metal soundtrack album. You should go crank it right now, but in the meantime, I’ll go look for a single from this new album in the YouTube swamp, look, there’s one, I sure hope there aren’t 500 stupid commercials before I can dig on “Light Up The Fire!” OK, someone call an ambulance, this is awesome and I am dead, these guys are better than ever. There’s a twangy, bouncy, hard-rock guitar thing, and singer Robin Zander proves he still rules, and then there’s a sweet break in which they sound like Raspberries. How dare these guys be so old and yet so completely awesome.
• Fine, let’s get to the bit where I give up on music again today, as I look at the new Taylor Swift album, Fearless (Taylor’s Version). Guess what, all it is is a re-recorded version of the original Fearless album from 2008, but also with six tunes that had been cut from the original album. I would literally rather watch potatoes bake than deal with this, but here we are, you with an insatiable craving for pop culture and me with space to fill in this multiple award-winning column. So (burp) she redid “Love Story,” with ukuleles and whatever, and it’s instructive if nothing else; now I see that Tay-Tay is nothing more than a glorified version of Natalie Imbruglia. Aren’t you glad we did this, guys?
• Up next we have Montreal-based producer CFCF, with his new album Memoryland, in which he collaborates with Kero Kero Bonito frontwoman Sarah Bonito! The leadoff single “Life Is Perfecto” is actually pretty cool, an incomprehensible-but-danceable cross between Burial’s wingnut glitch-tech and neo-rave following in the footsteps of Aphex Twin or whatever. The 7-minute tune collects an interesting array of smart beats, and now that I have cursed it by recommending it, this CFCF guy will soon be working at Starbucks for the rest of his life.
• Last but not least, it’s another sure-to-be-underrated tech-oriented album, Cheap Dreams, from Small Black! This is a four-man band from Brooklyn, N.Y., but wait, they are not irritating, unless you really hate Wham! and/or Hall & Oates, because those are artists that the album’s intro single, “Duplex,” incorporates to some extent. I like it just fine; there’s a definite ’80s flavor to it, and their singing isn’t just another cheap imitation of Beach Boys, which means these guys know enough not to suck.

Retro Playlist

There’s not a more surefire way to get absolutely no Likes or Shares on your social media post than to post a YouTube video of an old song you like. It’s an instant fail, doomed to crickets chirping in response, the depleted uranium of social media. No one cares that you totawwy wuv some 50-year-old Pink Floyd song, much less that you spent five minutes humming into some stupid app to find out who sang a particular hair-metal ballad, like I did with that old 1983 stunner, “When I’m With You” (I’d had no luck finding it through conventional Googling because I didn’t know any of the lyrics aside from the “Bay-baaayyy” part. I thought it was either from the Raspberries or The Babys, but it was actually done by some obscure Canadian band called Sheriff, whose singer is definitely the Guinness World Record holder for eyebrow size).

There’s always a “but,” of course. Any boomer who posts a Beatles song will get a few Likes, guaranteed. Just my luck, the only Beatles song I can tolerate is “Paperback Writer,” and so I am a Facebook pariah when it comes to music (I’d never dream of revealing my power level on Twitter by linking a Ministry or Acumen Nation video, because it would just be pearls before politics-obsessed swine anyway). Anyhow, I got sick of my childhood buddy Dave posting The Who YouTubes, so I figured I’d try to lure him into the current millennium by turning him on to Minus The Bear, a Seattle band (sadly defunct as of 2018) that sounds like Asia with a slight Limp Bizkit edge. I reviewed their 2010 LP, Omni, when it first came out, and I still like it.

Of course, just because albums are from the Aughts or Aught-teens doesn’t automatically mean they’re good. One of the running jokes at this column’s previous home was that The Darkness’ 2003 album Permission to Land would never be unseated as the worst Led Zeppelin-wannabe album ever. The singer sounds like the guy from Dexy’s Midnight Runners. Must I expound further?

Dave, if you’re out there, go listen to the Minus The Bear tune “Secret Country” all the way through. I am here to help you.