Young, Planetary, Locations I Can’t Place (Hidden Home Records)
Sometimes when I’m wading through all the new promos, I picture myself like a wizened Gandalf, looking for a bright shiny band of hobbits who surprise me just enough to warrant stopping for an extra puff from my super-long pipe. These Idaho boys look like any other slip-on-clad emo band, and they sound like it too, at first, the nerd-boy vocals, the angular guitars, all that stuff, but this EP is possessed of an abundance of heart; they don’t sound like they’re just trying to impress the girl next door who works at the Rite Aid; they’ve actually listened to old emo, the real stuff. I mean, it’s either that or they’re bummed that they didn’t have enough money to sound super-polished (and boring), but I really hope it’s the former, I really do. “Dig” is wicked punky, and one of the guys does a little screamo shtick that isn’t terrible. I wish upon these young emo hobbits a long, exciting adventure. A
Norah Rothman, enough (Hidden Home Records)
This up-and-comer techno-folkie has made a few entry-level splashes in a country-wide (but mostly Los Angeles-centered) circuit that would make most local artists think they’d arrived in force. She’s fishing for Joni Mitchell and Norah Jones comparisons, which I’d be happy to provide; her songs are dandelion-puffs of pretty, her voice a hooty combination of both aforementioned ladies, with a latently powerful hint of Shawn Colvin. She’s politically active, for all that’s worth; in 2018 she founded Earhart, a playlist/interview platform dedicated to “uplifting female, trans, and gender-nonconforming music artists,” and that’s all well and good, but what this boils down to is a sort of chill-mode Goldfrapp for yoga class, chocolate mousse for the working woman’s soul. “Wolves” gets its slow-finger-snapping steez from Otis Redding, and there’s a cover of, believe it or not, Madonna’s “Borderline,” stripped down to a stop-and-start elevator-torch duet with dulcet tenor Blush Wilson. The bareness of the package gets a bit tiresome; I would have liked to hear a bit more effects, but I could certainly nap to it. B
Retro Playlist
Eric W. Saeger recommends a couple albums worth a second look.
The original intent for this space was to leverage the “opportunity” Covid was handing us to look back on some older reviews I’d tabled in these pages and perhaps shine a light on them again. Fact is, even though it’s now been months since I began writing this, it wasn’t until today that I broke into the vault (in other words, my now retired hard drive) and took a look at some really old stuff.
The measure of decent art is gauging how it’s held up to the test of time. Trends come and (mostly) go, but these past years have mostly seen a blur of disposable junk. If you ask me, it seems like the entire decade of the Aughts was one big kaleidoscopic series of really unpalatable trends, as bands stretched out DIY capabilities, efforting not just to put out the odd record on a lark but also to even build their own imprints. So an endless tsunami of records has been coming at us at once, with no rhyme or reason, the eclecticism made even more unintelligible by the widening gap between working-class kids (who generally listen to music for the music) and college-educated, postmodernism-indoctrinated hipsters (who only seem to like music that really sucks melodically, which, on face, often seems to be the point).
Out there in the online sea, there’s an old L.A. Weekly column about the Top 20 worst indie bands. Arcade Fire was on there, perhaps unfairly, and a bunch of others. They caught hell for it, of course; the humorlessness that’s part and parcel of hipsterdom simply doesn’t allow for rational debate about basic melodic worth. Back in 2007, I knew something was rotten in Denmark, but I nevertheless decided to recommend Klaxons’ Myths Of The Near Future. Remember those days, the “nu-rave scene,” and how mediocre dance music was so important? Talk about shaky ground. I said back then that the genre “may be on to something, but there’s plenty of room in this newborn genre for more angst and artisanship.” Funny how that never happened, isn’t it?
One thumb-up I’ll stick with is Acid House Kings’ Music Sounds Better With You, from 2011. A mixture of decent-enough twee and 1960s girl-group, the best thing that record did was avoid having xylophone on it for the most (mfw wishing I’d made this column about hipsters playing xylophones during the worst musical era in history, not that I can’t later on, if I feel like it). It was interesting enough as a Columbia House throwback, but yeah, there was xylophone on one song, which, thankfully, I completely forget.
If you’re in a local band, now’s a great time to let me know about your EP, your single, whatever’s on your mind. Let me know how you’re holding yourself together without being able to play shows or jam with your homies. Send a recipe for keema matar. Email [email protected] for fastest response.
PLAYLIST
A seriously abridged compendium of recent and future CD releases
• On Sept. 4 all the new CDs will come to the stores and pirate sites, and one of them will be Chemtrails Over The Country Club, the latest from Lana Del Rey. Technically it will be out on Sept. 5, because she wants to get on my nerves, but whatever, let’s put her under the microscope and have a few laughs, which is overdue I suppose. You see, cool tech-infused chillout music from quirky hot chicks already peaked decades ago with Portishead, Goldfrapp, Kate Bush, PJ Harvey, various Massive Attack collaborators, and two billion others, so I have been a bit lax in keeping up with Lana Del Rey, who, because she is hot, has gotten away with portraying a breathless 1950s-torch cartoon character up until now! But wait a minute, welcome to the Snark Garage, missy, where I, the veteran mechanic, will pop open my toolbox full of tools that even I can’t identify and find out the dilly, for my awesome readers! I’ll admit I liked her first album, the self-titled one from 2010, and still have it around here somewhere, I don’t know, but apparently fame has made Del Rey a little crazy, because all sorts of critics and haters have been busy labeling her as anti-feminist. OK, let’s lift the hood and see if the new single, “Doin’ Time” isn’t stupid. Hm, it’s got a little bit of a hip-hop vibe but no hip-hop beat, like this’ll probably be on the radio a lot. She’s singing about someone treating her like crap, which I don’t get, like, isn’t that what a relationship is about? OK, everyone, wash your hands in the messy oil-stained sink and we’ll move on to the next nightmare.
• Who’s Bill Callahan? I don’t know or care, but he performed under the name Smog until 2007, and Domino Records has released his music, which automatically means it’s probably not completely unlistenable. In the early Aughts, one of the guys from Tortoise helped produce an album, which made him sound less sucky, and now he is 54 and supposedly still hawking his bread-and-butter sound, lo-fi, repetitive alt-country. The new album, Gold Record, includes a song called “Breakfast,” which is composed of two boring chords, and he sings like your dad’s creepy friend from the autobody shop, yay bad music.
• Post-punk oldsters Throwing Muses are from Rhode Island, and I always thought they kind of sucked, which only means you probably like them, just to make me mad. What they used to sound like was Versus trying to write bad B-side songs for The Go-Go’s, but who knows, maybe there is something on their new album, Sun Racket, that won’t make me think of empty Coke cans full of cigarette butts on the side of the highway, which is basically what their songwriting has always evoked. Well well, “Dark Blue” is pretty nasty and no-wave, loud and stupid, better than anything I’ve ever heard from them before.
• Let’s take it home with the new Hannah Georgas album, All That Emotion! She’s Canadian and has won Juno awards and “music prizes.” Yes, but has she ever beat up a cab driver? That’s my rock star test. I think the new song, “That Emotion,” sounds like Francesca Belmonte at first blush, but if I listen to any more of this disposable chill-pop I will fall asleep, so forget it. — Eric W. Saeger
Local bands seeking album or EP reviews can message me on Twitter (@esaeger) or Facebook (eric.saeger.9).