WHY? songs have always gone beyond verse-chorus-verse structure, beyond drums/bass/guitar, and beyond the comfortable – especially in terms of singer Yoni Wolf’s subject matter. On the Oakland band’s fourth album, Eskimo Snow, acoustic guitars, piano and live instrumentation have taken the place of the hip-hop loops and beats of past WHY? albums. In the past, the band never made songs in the traditional sense of the word, but created vignettes – the music serving as a backdrop to Wolf’s half-sung, half-spoken poetry illustrating the absurdity and intensity of everyday life. Those hip-hop-backed vignettes may have finally become structured songs, but that doesn’t mean WHY? is any safer.

Wolf’s embarrassingly dark and poignant (and sometimes creepy) stories of death, shame and love are more potent than ever on Eskimo Snow. When paired with the more organic sound of pianos and acoustic guitar, Wolf sounds more relatable and pained than normal. The colder sounding instrumentation of previous WHY? albums and the detached, distant and even robotic lyricism made it hard for listeners to sympathize with the robot-like Wolf. This distance, conversely, makes it easier to digest the sometimes-disturbing imagery. But now that Wolf’s poetry is more natural sounding and more human, it’s hard not to be affected by it.

Musically, Eskimo Snow (which features contributions from Wolf’s former Hymie’s Basement bandmate and Fog frontman Andrew Broder, as well as Mark Erickson) hardly contains a trace of the darkness of past WHY? albums. But Wolf’s lyrics – covering topics ranging from religion to sex to death to existentialism and everything in between – is still the glue that binds the band’s sound together, and his uncanny ability to describe the human experience continues to infiltrate the brain of anyone who listens.

Mason Jennings’ Sept. 15 release Blood of Man delivers a shift from the acoustic sound that dominated his earlier albums to more amplified, pulsing compositions. Although Jennings picks up the acoustic guitar only a few times, most of the record still carries a resemblance of calm intonations periodically culminating in raw crescendos and fretful callings.

I initially feared that this album would not be full of the earnest folk that Jennings usually weaves. But even though various reviews have highly proclaimed it as a rock and roll record, Blood of Man is crafted to resonate as a mixture of both. His new direction is depicted by electrified, upbeat, songs that lack excessive instrumentals but coalesce to form beautiful sounds. Frantic drums gyrate in the background as everything else ebbs and flows on “City of Ghosts.” However, Jennings eventually reverts to reminiscing about childhood memories. “Mama, we’re in love with a memory,” he hums lightly, and means heavily.

Choruses of Jennings’ harmonica emerge on “Black Wind Blowing,” a bloodthirsty ballad of gory episodes – “I put my gun up under your chin, my hand was shaking so I dug it in.” A searching, hopeless voice peaks with a quivering, distraught solitude.

Jennings also produced this album, allowing listeners a bigger taste of his unprocessed artifact. The unpolished tunes, along with his nostalgic voice and hymnal poetry are among the major accents that define Blood of Man, giving it the edge that plain old rock and roll can’t quite compete with.

The Chambermaids are the kind of band whose music sounds a hell of a lot simpler than it really is on the first few listens. To wit: their new EP, Down in the Berries, sounds like 17 minutes of Sonic Youth-lovin’, 90s-rock revivalism on first blush. Repeated listens reveal a bit more nuance, though. Once you get past dual-channel guitar solos and garage-rock riffs, you’ll find a talented rhythm section that knows how to flip the switch instantly from dub-inflected groove to straight-ahead pounding and a Futureheads-like use of vocal harmonies to add an ethereal layer to otherwise straightforward songs.

The Chambermaids are interesting because, like all the best post-punk acts, they’ve got a bass-heavy sound and a penchant for wildly noisy interludes tempered by a respect for old-school rock. It just so happens that the garage rock side wins out more often than on the records that undoubtedly inspired these cats (Joy Division never put that “Louie Louie” cover on an album while Down in the Berries is lousy with the old E-G-E rock ‘n’ rollin’. Not lousy in the bad way, though). At the end of the day, there’s no escaping those comparisons to Pixies, Sonic Youth, The Breeders, etc., whose collective influence looms large and gives the record a slightly disconcerting feeling of deja vu. Still, though, it’s an enjoyable record, and you can’t really ask for more than that.

The aptly titled Bromst, Dan Deacon’s newest album seems to bring together exactly what the title implies. Part new sound, part old, Dan Deacon took Bromst in a somewhat new direction, while largely adhering to his old standbys of crazy and absurd. The songs are as packed with noise as ever, while Deacon distorts his voice through out the background like some sort of acid-tripping, cat-stuck-in-engine sound that I couldn’t possibly describe any better.

Of the newer twist to his sound, Deacon makes ample use of digital synth drums and computerized sounds. Every track is filled to bursting with noise and sound, but Deacon, showing an incomparable ability to make sense out of the absurd, winds it all into coherent and catchy songs. In fact, this album has even more structure than Deacon’s last one, but still manages to contain all of the size his previous work carried.

For some reason though, the album just doesn’t touch me like his last one. There isn’t the freshness or surprise. Deacon makes his music in a sort of vacuum, really pioneering an individual noise. Part of the excitement that lies in Dan Deacon has to do with discovery, that freshness that exists in that new sound. But like asparagus, that freshness turns into something that smells kind of fishy after a while, and makes you think really hard about whether or not you want to digest it. That’s is kind of what Bromst is like after a couple of listens, it just comes out stale.

The album does have some very redeeming tracks, and it does have a lot of new sounds that were undoubtedly pounded out on some sort of digital electronica anvil. As a final statement, if you haven’t heard Deacon before, this would be a great album to start with. If you’re a standing fan however, it may not live up to expectation.

It is no question that Peter, Bjorn, and John is one of the most refreshing bands to come along in some time. Just as the fire is dying down from their last mainstream effort Writer’s Block, the Swedish pop trio has returned with Living Thing.

Released on March 31, Living Thing treads on similar ground as Architecture In Helsinki’s Places Like
This, while still maintaining enough originality to stand all on its own. The music is eccentric and rhythm-centered, with less of the straightforward structure usually common in their songs. Die-hard fans don’t fret; this album still holds all the ingredients of the distinctly recognizable Peter, Bjorn, and John sound: sparse arrangement and introspective themes, with songs containing great depth and refined tonality.

“Nothing To Worry About,” the album’s first single, is a modest effort, but lacks the ability to conjure up the same sort of notoriety the band achieved with “Young Folks.”

Other tracks of note include, “Just The Past,” “Lay It Down,” and the superior track, “It Don’t Move Me,” which stands far ahead of the rest.

Despite its occasional stumbles, Living Thing is a move in the right direction. The group is maturing, honing its style. Peter’s vocals have become the center of attention for this album, helping refine the overall cohesiveness of the music. Guitars, once the cornerstone of the band’s songs, make only short appearances to support the more prominent vocals. The stripped-down production will likely help separate them from other artists, who consistently build upon the complexity of their music rather than simplify it.

In time Living Thing will likely prove to be the stepping-stone for bigger and better things. Though this album doesn’t feel quite as developed as Writer’s Block, and at times can get tedious, the group deserves credit for pushing their own boundaries. The biggest hurdle facing them won’t be quality of the material, but whether or not they can sell it.

In the 90’s, Scotland had some power house indie acts like Belle and Sebastian and Arab Strap. More recently pop-tastic Camera Obscura is making a scene with their new album coming out on April 20. These bands seem to have one thing in common, Orange Juice. I’m not talking about the cold-fighting, all-around health beverage boasted by every Floridian.

Orange Juice formed in 1975, originally calling themselves the Nu-Sonics until the formation of legendary indie pop record label Postcard. After joining the label, the Nu-Sonics changed their name and recorded their first album, You Can’t Hide Your Love Forever for under £100.

At this point, Punk’s macho attitude and the void left by Joy Division, left by Ian Curtis’ suicide, needed to be filled, hence Orange Juice’s success. Their single “Rip It Up” reached the number 8 position on the UK Singles Chart in February 1983 and ended up being the Bands only top 40 hit.
You Can’t Hide Your Love Forever is a pop-gem. Fusing post-punk like Joy Division and Funky guitar riffs like Chic, similarities can be drawn to Gang of Four. But unlike Gang of Four’s striking political message, Orange Juice was less serious, more lyrically ironic, and definitely more optimistic and will leave listeners with a pulpy, bitter-sweet after taste. One can’t help but nod her or his head to the rolling guitars in songs like “Upwards and Onwards” or “Wan Light.” The tempo of the whole album flows consistently and the slight variations on each of the tracks keep the album fresh after every listen.

Detroit is and was the home of many music acts including Ted Nugent, The White Stripes, Moby, Missy Elliott, Ashanti, Madonna and Eminem. The famous Motown record label produced some of the most soulful and poppy hit songs ever heard. Most important, Detroit is the home of the Stooges and the MC5, both influential to the punk movement. But there is a lesser known band that bridges the blues-infusing rock goliaths with their punky offspring and, after over 30 years of being hidden away, DEATH finally get their day in the sun.

Death was formed in the early 70s and was originally an R&B outfit until seeing either a live Stooges or Alice Cooper performance (or possibly both.) This event promptly influenced the band switching musical styles to harder, more aggressive rock music. The band would eventually fade to obscurity, with their only known recordings traded amongst zealot-like punk fans.

In 1975 at Detroit’s United Sound Studios, the band recorded seven songs. Two of the songs from the session became a 7” single (“Politicians in My eyes” and “Keep on Knocking”) of which the band self-released 500 copies.

That those seven songs can be found on Death’s most recent release, …For the Whole World to See, is a relief; this is music everyone needs to hear. Out on the infamous label Drag City, the songs are finally all released after 30 years of collecting dust in a basement.

Even today the songs feel quite fresh. With the hammering, powerful drums, and the super riffs that are comparable to Wayne Kramer of the MC5 and Fred “Sonic” Smith, the sound will enter through one ear, scoop out your brains and leave you wondering “where has this been all my whole life?” Popular albums get a chance to be re-released all the time, but there are always rare examples of something old still being new to discover. There is always a place to dig deeper in music, even a place like 70’s rock, which seems all too cleaned out these days. Death is not dead, it is just coming back to life and it will rock your soul into the grave.

Interested in hearing more about this album? Tune in to Radio K (104.5 FM or stream online at radiok.org) on Monday April 13 (or 20) at 8pm to hear hosts Phil and Mark gab about how much they love this record and even play a few tracks.

It’s a great album, and it is paramount that I make that immediate statement so I can segue into talk about other things than how great it is. An album with at least 29 plus artists, all of whom are top 10 in my book, defies any possibility of being bad. From Andrew Bird to Sufjan Stevens, even Yo La Tango, the list of bands is almost more than the structure of this piddly album reviewer can bear.

Now I’ve seen my fair share of charity albums, and from my experience, the majority of them are made up of various mediocre B-sides or lo-fi live recordings. But ambitious as their intentions usually are, the albums have never seemed to match the fervor. Dark Was The Night is a charity compilation of a different vein, namely that it is surprisingly good. On top of that, all the benefits gained from album sales are going to the Red Hot Organization, a group dedicated to raising awareness about HIV and AIDS through the exclusive medium of pop culture.

It is a rare occasion that I find myself completely smitten by an album, but as for this one I can honestly say, and in a completely non-cliché fashion, that it has something for absolutely everyone. It’s 31 songs long, with each and every one being brand-spanking-new and exclusively made for this album. The sound of it is all across the board and features a number of cooperative songs that simply can’t be found anywhere else (such as an exclusive Feist/Ben Gibbard track). I even find myself at a loss for words. The album in my mind is every music buff’s wet dream, mine included. Therefore there is a dual obligation to buy this album; not only is it amazing, but it is also for a great cause.

Sweden can claim yet another act which will baffle listeners and unfairly color outsiders’ perceptions. Fever Ray’s eponymous first release is the very definition of “bizarre,” and comes nearly three years after The Knife’s most recent album, Silent Shout. The new act is comprises of one half of The Knife’s lineup – Karin Elizabeth Dreijer Anderson (the other half is her brother, Olof) and was greatly anticipated following the critical success of The Knife’s recent efforts. With that exposition out of the way: Fever Ray’s release is a great departure from the old act. Fever Ray’s beats are more languid and deliberate than earlier efforts, and it is definitively un-danceable. The album features a tight ten-song lineup with none of the interludes that have defined The Knife. Gone are the creepy incestuous lyrics, as well as the under-one-minute songs about cops defecating in people’s mouths, or about keeping penises hanging out exposed. This is a welcome relief, as these have been a persistent, if funny, thorn in the side of electronica which is more than worthy of competing on its own merits. Although Fever Ray is superficially gimmick-free, it nevertheless retains all of the best aspects of The Knife’s pervasive and unsettling creepiness. Parts of the album are distorted into something strangely nostalgic, a la Boards Of Canada’s finest work. Prior to this release, most people would have been terrified to behold music that hearkens to unnerving remixes of Donkey Kong Country music crossed with The Lion King soundtrack. However, if the last sentence sounded denigratory, it was meant in the most effusively positive way imaginable. The risk paid off and if Karin’s goal with Fever Ray was to break out from the shadow of her previous work, she has certainly succeeded. Standout tracks include the bizarre first-released single, “If I Had A Heart” (which had a perplexingly morbid music video produced), and “Coconut.”

Albums like Crack the Skye are very troubling. They aren’t good, so you won’t get the satisfaction of hearing a new masterpiece by one of you favorite bands, but they also aren’t bad for any easily identifiable reason. You can’t just say “they sold out” or “their new drummer sucks.” You have no choice but to maybe, just maybe, acknowledge that somebody’s run out of ideas.

That’s the feeling I get from Mastodon’s new album. Either that or they’ve decided to play to all of their weaknesses. I mean, why else would they pull the ages-old “let’s go prog” card? Why else would they decide to sing rather than scream on nearly every track when their sung vocals are probably the weakest part of their sonic array? Why would they swap out veteran metalcore producer Matt Bayles for Brendan O’Brien, the king of radio-friendly butt-rock?

All of these elements combine to make an album that is overstuffed, self-indulgent and boring. It’s got extended keyboard intros, 13 minute songs, banjo intros and ridiculous lyrics about Rasputin, all of which may have been forgivable had the songs been interesting. Unfortunately, they’re not. Most of the songs are either sloppy collages of generic Mastodon riffs or, even worse, generic “rock” songs with hardcore flourishes tacked on because, hey, it’s a MASTODON record!

O’Brien’s production really only makes things that much worse because it turns the melodic portions of the songs into radio-rock messes that lack the crunch and power of Mastodon’s other records. The fact that most of the choruses on the album sound like they were ripped straight from 93X’s top ten is a big problem.

Of course, it’s not just about Mastodon going more melodic or wanting to write songs instead of riff. No, they’ve done that before on Blood Mountain and with fantastic results. The difference is that those songs felt like metal songs infused with good melodic ideas while the songs on Crack the Skye feel like mediocre songs infused with metal ideas. And lots of bad singing. Can’t forget that.