The beauty of rock and roll is that it's anybody's game. Throughout its history, there are those who have taken up the gauntlet of rock with little or no background or preparation. The Sex Pistols are one of the biggest, most influential bands of all time, and it's hard to imagine that any of them could read sheet music, or were familiar with the definition of the term "fugue." Even a band like Radiohead, who are known (especially recently) for being avant-garde experimentalists, are fronted by a man who admits to not knowing (or needing) any degree of music theory to operate.
This is the challenge that we as fans and purveyors of rock music must constantly struggle with. Is the music we listen to legitimate on an artistic level, or is it just pleasant noise created (and enjoyed) with a childlike naivete?
If I asked the members of Durban Poison this question, I imagine they would probably laugh. This is a band that seems to exude the kind of youthful enthusiasm that makes rock such a compelling musical medium for so many. They have taken up the DIY ethos of garage rock with an almost effortless, carefree mentality, and the result is the sonic equivalent of improvised, free-verse poetry.
My band played a show with DP way back in the fall of 2009. I believe it was a battle of the bands at the Cambie, a run-down dive of a place in one of Victoria's less-glamorous neighbourhoods. DP's lead singer Matti Corvette came prancing onto the dilapidated, makeshift Cambie stage in what could only be described as a gender-bending glam rock outfit, a strange anachronism that was at odds with the balls-out, punk rock assault on the ears that shortly proceeded it. Still, it was clear that he really didn't give a shit what the anthropoligists might say about his attire: he was having fun, and giving precisely 100% of his effort into what was an enthusiastic, if not technically proficient performance.
So, when I got my hands on their most recent 7", I was prepared for more of the same: enthusiasm, a degree of intentional sloppiness, and a band not overly concerned with conforming to any particular trope. What I found was not entirely within the realm of my expectations. The record, containing their original "Wanna Hear About Dancin'," a hooky, danceable little mid-tempo number in the vein of early Iggy Pop on the A-side and a cover of Rocky Horror Picture Show's "Timewarp" on the B-side, was a tightly-produced, surprisingly taut recording that featured a band coming of age and maturing nicely. The ethic of their image was now distilled into a focused representation of a band intentionally throwing back to a bygone era of fuzzed-out guitars and loose arrangements: the kind of thing that a lot of bands brag about "being about," but don't always really achieve in any meaningful way.
In all honesty, I could see these guys rocking a stage in Detroit circa 1978 and killing the place. There's a fun, honest expressiveness to their music that defies you to sit still and listen to it. It's meant to be enjoyed amidst a throng of like-minded music fans, as if the sound waves were destined to be absorbed by a messy moshpit of sweaty aberrants.
The music itself does nothing to open new doors, or innovate, or experiment, or any of those delightful little ideals that are usually seen as essential to music being considered 'good.' But sometimes, we just want to hear a band embracing a well-defined genre and doing it well. If there's anything that Durban Poison brings to the table that is refreshing and "new," it is that they honestly do want to send you back to the seventies, when music was a little more innocent, and when enjoying it wasn't so much goddamn work.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Show review - Godspeed You! Black Emperor
It might seem like a truism, but I'll state the obvious anyways: some things can't be expressed with words. A lot of things, actually. Think about all the fights you've had with your significant either, where, in trying to navigate the complex web of social delicacy, you duke it out over major issues with shrugs and pursed lips and the spaces in between "I don't know"s. The most contentious of issues, both personal and interpersonal, have been exacerbated or settled with this sort of human inflection.
Never has this been more true than in today's world, where human beings are growing ever less descriptive in textual communication, despite being ever more communicative on the whole. There's a text message for every occasion, even if we have to outline the specifics of those occasions with contractions, emoticons and colloquilisms.
With this in mind, maybe this is the perfect time for Godspeed You! Black Emperor to get back together, when daily we're accosted with images of riots in the streets of Cairo and Tehran, the symbols that the world is changing and that, in our increasingly wordless world, we might not be able to describe our feelings on the matter. Almost a decade after they stopped playing shows, the world is predictably all the more fucked up in their absence, and in desperate need of someone--anyone--to attach some emotional sentiment to it all. Shit, baby, that's what these eight minstrels were born to do, and we all like to see someone fulfill his calling.
Wednesday night they were in Vancouver, playing the well-used old Vogue theatre in front of one the most loyal and appreciative crowds I've ever seen. They probably could have filled a space twice the size, but these post-rockers aren't really into excess--the space was intimate enough (any more intimate and one would run the risk fo being swallowed whole by their symphonic energy) and the acoustics, if not ideal, were passable. I hope if they roll through Vancouver again that they can line themselves up with a more suitable venue, but the Vogue digs were adequate.
Known for being a tad unbearably pretentious in their politics and aesthetic, I wasn't sure what to expect seeing them in person. Their minimalist visual show, achieved via the use of four generic projectors and one very deft projectionist, is well-documented, and somewhat at odds with the massive sound that the band projects. Certainly, one could envision the use of lasers, lights, LEDs and who knows what kind of gadgetry to accompany the larger-than-life dynamics of their set, and it would fit the bill. But there's a comfort in knowing that the band is all about the music, and that the stage show simply reflect the fact that, yes, you could observe the band at work with your eyes open if you so prefer, (and yes, there is a point to all this music and it does have a message, even if that message is sometimes reinforced by over-exposing images taken out of 15th century biblical propaganda), but you're probably better off closing your eyes and letting your ears take over.
I spent a lot of time at this show with my ears open and my eyes closed in this manner, letting all manner of texture, melody and percussion wash over me like a tidal wave. It was an exultant feeling, and one that I've never felt at a concert in quite that way before. Other groups in this vein have tried, influenced by GY!BE's trailblazing sound, such as Explosions In the Sky or ISIS, but these Montrealers are the original and the best, and their years of experience are worn across them like so many well-used guitar straps.
No matter what the group's politics are really about, there's an essential truth revealed in the way they go about expressing it. In the absence of formal lyrics, there's nothing to debate: the music simply is, expressive and bald and unrepentant. This threadbareness strips away all the pretentiousness from the whole affair, leaving us with something at once uniquely beautiful and horrifying. The World Will End, it says, And How Do You Feel About That?
That's really what this is about: feeling something for yourself. You can go to a Strokes concert and Julian Casablancas will tell you to feel apathetic; you can go to a Spoon concert and be told to feel ironic. Most music is instructive in this way, intentionally or not, but Godspeed doesn't let the listener off that easily. You must decide how the music makes you feel, and there can be no equivocation on the matter: it's polarizing stuff, that whether you love or hate, will force you into making a decision (for once in your goddamn life!)
So what was the music like? How was the show? Like the band members realized long ago in their band makeup, words will not suffice. More than any other concert I've been to, it was a whole body and mind experience. It was long, and at times I wanted it to be over, not because I wasn't enjoying the music but because I wasn't sure if I had the emotional stamina to keep up with the onslaught. It was always passionate, always perfectly performed, often repetitive (necessarily so) and always loud. It had the audacity to sit politely in a chair while ripping you a new asshole, in the same way that the bomb that will oneday destroy civilization will be launched by a computer nerd sitting at a desk. It stood on stage for nearly two and a half hours and proclaimed, by way of example, that not everything is on the internet, not all experiences can be compressed into an iPhone app, and that, at the end of the day, it's alright to have feelings, so long as you can accept that yours are probably wrong.
Never has this been more true than in today's world, where human beings are growing ever less descriptive in textual communication, despite being ever more communicative on the whole. There's a text message for every occasion, even if we have to outline the specifics of those occasions with contractions, emoticons and colloquilisms.
With this in mind, maybe this is the perfect time for Godspeed You! Black Emperor to get back together, when daily we're accosted with images of riots in the streets of Cairo and Tehran, the symbols that the world is changing and that, in our increasingly wordless world, we might not be able to describe our feelings on the matter. Almost a decade after they stopped playing shows, the world is predictably all the more fucked up in their absence, and in desperate need of someone--anyone--to attach some emotional sentiment to it all. Shit, baby, that's what these eight minstrels were born to do, and we all like to see someone fulfill his calling.
Wednesday night they were in Vancouver, playing the well-used old Vogue theatre in front of one the most loyal and appreciative crowds I've ever seen. They probably could have filled a space twice the size, but these post-rockers aren't really into excess--the space was intimate enough (any more intimate and one would run the risk fo being swallowed whole by their symphonic energy) and the acoustics, if not ideal, were passable. I hope if they roll through Vancouver again that they can line themselves up with a more suitable venue, but the Vogue digs were adequate.
Known for being a tad unbearably pretentious in their politics and aesthetic, I wasn't sure what to expect seeing them in person. Their minimalist visual show, achieved via the use of four generic projectors and one very deft projectionist, is well-documented, and somewhat at odds with the massive sound that the band projects. Certainly, one could envision the use of lasers, lights, LEDs and who knows what kind of gadgetry to accompany the larger-than-life dynamics of their set, and it would fit the bill. But there's a comfort in knowing that the band is all about the music, and that the stage show simply reflect the fact that, yes, you could observe the band at work with your eyes open if you so prefer, (and yes, there is a point to all this music and it does have a message, even if that message is sometimes reinforced by over-exposing images taken out of 15th century biblical propaganda), but you're probably better off closing your eyes and letting your ears take over.
I spent a lot of time at this show with my ears open and my eyes closed in this manner, letting all manner of texture, melody and percussion wash over me like a tidal wave. It was an exultant feeling, and one that I've never felt at a concert in quite that way before. Other groups in this vein have tried, influenced by GY!BE's trailblazing sound, such as Explosions In the Sky or ISIS, but these Montrealers are the original and the best, and their years of experience are worn across them like so many well-used guitar straps.
No matter what the group's politics are really about, there's an essential truth revealed in the way they go about expressing it. In the absence of formal lyrics, there's nothing to debate: the music simply is, expressive and bald and unrepentant. This threadbareness strips away all the pretentiousness from the whole affair, leaving us with something at once uniquely beautiful and horrifying. The World Will End, it says, And How Do You Feel About That?
That's really what this is about: feeling something for yourself. You can go to a Strokes concert and Julian Casablancas will tell you to feel apathetic; you can go to a Spoon concert and be told to feel ironic. Most music is instructive in this way, intentionally or not, but Godspeed doesn't let the listener off that easily. You must decide how the music makes you feel, and there can be no equivocation on the matter: it's polarizing stuff, that whether you love or hate, will force you into making a decision (for once in your goddamn life!)
So what was the music like? How was the show? Like the band members realized long ago in their band makeup, words will not suffice. More than any other concert I've been to, it was a whole body and mind experience. It was long, and at times I wanted it to be over, not because I wasn't enjoying the music but because I wasn't sure if I had the emotional stamina to keep up with the onslaught. It was always passionate, always perfectly performed, often repetitive (necessarily so) and always loud. It had the audacity to sit politely in a chair while ripping you a new asshole, in the same way that the bomb that will oneday destroy civilization will be launched by a computer nerd sitting at a desk. It stood on stage for nearly two and a half hours and proclaimed, by way of example, that not everything is on the internet, not all experiences can be compressed into an iPhone app, and that, at the end of the day, it's alright to have feelings, so long as you can accept that yours are probably wrong.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Sleigh Bells - Treats
Alright, so I've taken a few weeks off. First there was the vain attempt to try and write a 50,000 word novelette in 30 days. Add to that my band's search for a new drummer, getting a new job, and the general craziness of the holiday season, and time for blogging has been scarce.I know, I know. Excuses. Still, I've tried my best to keep up with the local band reviews; I hope you've enjoyed reading them, and maybe discovering some new bands along the way. By the way: keep the local material coming, boys and girls. I'll have a review of a Durban Poison 7" up in a few days, so if you're a DP fan, stay tuned for that (I hope it'll be as fun to read as the record is to listen to).
For my triumphant return to commercial reviewingness, I have chosen the new LP from Sleigh Bells. Who are Sleigh Bells, you ask? Just some new band trying to cash in on the titular success of Broken Bells? Nay, they're a duo from L.A., and quite the odd couple at that: Alexis Krauss (no relation to Alison Krauss) sings and, before the group's rapid rise to prominence, was a kindergarten teacher. In her teens she was part of a campy pop supergroup Rubyblue. Derek Miller plays guitar, and used to blow eardrums as part of a hardcore band, before waiting tables in LA en route to being a rock star.
It's the kind of thing that pisses struggling musicians like me right off: two people get together, mostly on a lark, write some pop songs in their living room, then get famous a couple of months later when the demo somehow ends up in the hands of MIA. Yeah, that's right, the MIA. The one that sings pregnant and preaches Sri Lankan independence.
That's the tabloid story, anyways. What you probably don't hear is that the tape ended up in MIA's sweaty little palms probably as a result of Miller's hard-won contacts from years of slugging it out on the hardcore circuit. Rarely does anything come easy in the music biz, and I doubt that Sleigh Bells is any exception, despite their "overnight success" facade.
So what do we make of this little record of theirs? Is this unlikely formation going to have a happy ending, or is this another example of a major-label artist trying to use their name and reputation to prop up a sentimental favourite? It's tough to say with Treats, a wildly inconsistent offering that speaks to the duo's promise, but also reveals some severe shortcomings.
The first comment I had about this album after popping it into my stereo--and this is before reading up on the band and learning that MIA had any association with Sleigh Bells a'tall--was "wow, it sounds like MIA is singing." I thought maybe she was guesting on vocals, but that would be strange on the first track of a (noisepop) rock album. No, it seems instead that whoever was engineering this track simply selected the "Make it sound as much like MIA as humanly possible without MIA actually singing" setting on his/her channel strip. And why not? MIA's unique vocal delivery and vocal processing have set a modern pop diva bar, in much the same way Madonna redefined the sound of female pop vocals for decades. Still, after learning about her direct involvement in this record, it seems strange. I can't think of another example of a musical powerhouse crafting another act in his/her image.
What's that you say? Theory of a Deadman?
Oh, right. Nevermind.
By no means is this as much of a travesty as the injustices committed upon us by 604 Records. But the album does feel at times kind of like MIA's attempt to recruit like-minded musicians, in some weird genre-building effort.
And that's perhaps the biggest problem I have with Treats. It never really feels like their own record. Alexis Krauss' vocals are so layered with pop sheen and disco nonsense that I couldn't tell you if she's the world's greatest singer, or its shittiest. And Derek Miller's guitar playing, while inspired in places, fails to really blow me away at any point. At times the FX work is pedestrian: yes, harmonizer pedals are cool, but if you rely on them to make a song's hook interesting, you're probably not going to make it to any year-end lists any time soon.
For something that labels itself pop, there really isn't nearly enough hooky riffing going on. There's a lot of staticness to the riffing, a lot of the same thing repeated, re-repeated, and then run through a noise generator to try and make it interesting. This might work at the club, but in the comfort of my living room I felt like throwing something at my stereo.
Good thing I like my stereo substantially more than this record.
So that's the bad, what about the good? I did say that the album was promising, didn't I? Well, at times this album kind of kicks some ass. Kind of. Track 4, "Infinite Guitars," is one of the catchiest, and downright badassiest songs I've heard this year. Krauss gives up moaning like an unspayed cat in heat (there are a lot of random sex moans on this album, did I mention that?) to actually do something worthwhile with that pretty little voice of hers, and quite ironically, it is interesting because her delivery in this song isn't pretty at all. Instead, she snarls her lines in such a way as to do the vocal distortion justice. I have no idea what she's snarling about (something about drunk girls?), but it sounds wicked.
The titular track, and the album closer, "Treats" is another track that appealed to me. The first 8 bars will remind you of Green Day's "Boulevard of Broken Dreams," which should have you running for the stop button, but fear not: they manage to do something interesting with the track despite this unfortunate sonic similarity. I feel that it is in this mixture of traditional rock arrangement, with the ever-present dance beat, and Krauss' pop vocals, where the band finds its stride. Their tracks may wind up being more pop than anything else, but in order to succeed, this band will have to find away to implant a rock and roll heart into what they write. This is definitely not always achieved on this record.
It speaks to the monotony of this album that even after multiple listenings, the only two tracks that I can really remember the melody of are the ones I highlighted. I have some general ideas in my head of what the other ones are like, but though I've heard them many times, they do little to stand out. Bits and pieces remind me of what I don't like: processed, affected vocals that do little to impress upon the spirit; directionless, hookless guitar playing that sounds like some guy discovering his pedalboard for the first time; If this band dropped off the face of the earth, I wouldn't be disappointed, and if they came to town I doubt I would go see their set.
And even yet, if they were to release another record? I dunno.
I just might buy it.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The Birthday Cakes - Romper Room
You can call me a tyrannical snob of the biological hierarchy if you wish, but I really enjoy being a human being. For while it's true that we may not be particularly strong (with the possible exceptions of Phil Pfister & Carrot Top) or agile; and that we don't have any ass-jets with which to weave geometrically perfect designs out of silk; and that, unlike snakes, we can't perceive infrared light with special eyes in the roofs of our mouths, we do possess a number of qualities that I, as a sentient being, would be unable to do without.One of these very special qualities is the ability to create, seemingly out of nothing, truly novel things. Now, this doesn't happen quite as much as perhaps it should, but it is my firm belief that most, if not all reasonably clear-headed (and quite a few not-so-clear-headed) people are capable of this feat. And so it is refreshing, and re-affirming of my belief that humans are a special bunch, that Sudbury, Ontario's The Birthday Cakes have dedicated their young lives to producing such novel, refreshing and imaginative rock.
The album is called Romper Room, and it's not particularly new at this point in time--in fact the band have produced a number of recordings since RR came out way back in 2008, but I think that as their only extent full-length to date, it's a good place to start with introducing this kooky three-piece.
The band consists of three brothers: Cameron, Clayton and Carter, but rest assured, this isn't The Moffats. I was first introduced to the band back in August, when my band was billed to open for them on their cross-Canada summer tour. I gobbled up all of their available recordings as soon as I heard about them, and by the time the show rolled around I was quite familiar with much of their material. I was excited to play with them, knowing that I was in for something out of the ordinary, and it's always an honour to be associated with something truly unique.
It's difficult to really describe TBCs' music without detracting from what I feel is its true intent: it's true, it is post-pop; it's also true that it doesn't take itself too seriously and that the lyrical content of many of the songs will have you smiling at their absurd nature, but there's something else going on here as well. Though Romper Room is really a record made by not overly-skilled musicians in the nadir of their development, both as writers and performers, it's already tapping into a raw creativity that is so absent in much of the underground or indie music of today. A lot of bands try very hard to be different, and well they should; but, unfortunately, a lot of bands are not nearly as willing to be as frank and honest with themselves as TBC are in their songwriting, and so the attempt at true creativity comes off as contrived.
Not so here, where a 40-second song about a peanut butter factory makes no apologies for its own existence. Nor does the song about the ineffectual assault of a ghost bear upon an unsuspecting victim (its claws go right through him, natch). They simply are.
Don't get me wrong: this isn't the secret, long-lost definitive album of the last decade. There has been greater genius in the world, for sure. But where so many bands try with limp wrists to be different, to be quirky while maintaining artistic viability, and fail, The Birthday Cakes are succeeding. To be honest, I think a lot of it can be chalked up to simple naiveite; there's every indication that they may, in fact, be apeing some existing sound (who isn't?). But they do so in such a way that makes me feel like I'm really listening to something that doesn't come around every day.
As the three lads develop as musicians, there's no saying what will become of their band. Quite a lot of the charm of this album exists in its lack of spit & polish, and its complete absence of anything that would provide a trained musician for than a moment's difficulty in playing. Speaking from personal experience, it can be a real dilemma in the songwriting process to resist the idea that "more complex=better." There's a real feeling that as these guys grow up, learn more chords, and discover that Jimi Hendrix really was that good, the honesty of this type of output will be lost, or will simply become somehow inappropriate.
For now, though, it's a sonic treat to sit down to a record that's so earnestly playful, and can exist without pretense or apology. As I said before, I have listened to later output from these guys, and while this review is not about those recordings, I can assure the reader that this is a band that is developing and further refining their songwriting as they go. So rest assured: if you invest yourself into this band, it will be an investment that will continue, I think, to pay dividends in the coming years.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Victoria Underground - Reaver - Corvus
As we approach the end of 2010, we see that more than 30 years into its history, the musicians' appetite for heavy metal continues on undiminished. One can see why so many are drawn to this genre: the technical proficiency required to be a good metal band is unparalleled in most rock genres. So, if you'e an ace drummer or a true shredder on guitar, what else are you going to play? If you like your guitars distorted, then only metal can really offer you the challenge that you seek.
Victoria and Vancouver have produced quite a few promising metal acts in recent years, from bands like Unleash the Archers and Archon Legion to this week's featured group, Reaver. There's absolutely nothing about this sleepy little colonial town that I would think would inspire metal, but nonetheless, excellent bands are emerging.
Reaver's debut LP, "Corvus" is extraordinarily well-produced. Recorded at Prodigal Studios in Victoria by David Fraelic, the album sounds like a world-class recording. The drums sit nicely in the mix and have that classic heavy metal grandeur, guitars are bright and sparkling when they need to be, razor-sharp at other times such as in solos.
Think what you want about death metal as a genre: there's no denying that its practitioners are serious musicians, and Reaver is no exception. Everything about the performances on this record scream "chops," from the dizzying guitar solos to the machine-gun drumlines. The band takes up the challenge of its predecessors and succeeds ably.
Brandon Reynolds' scream is deep and gutteral. There is absolutely no singing on this album, in keeping with true death metal, which can lead to a bit of vocal monotony. Perhaps if there was some alteration to the delivery it would help to break things up a bit; as it stands, while I hear a lot of different things going on in each song musically, the vocals tend to mush things together into a degree of sameness. Perhaps this is just a trapping of the genre, and I'm sure there are many purists that would applaud this approach.
This is definitely a progressive death metal act, with elements such as acoustic guitar interludes and piano melodies thrown in to add depth to the album. At times this seems a little corny, but I applaud the effort to add some dynamics to the music. Some of the softer passages seem to harken to late 80s Metallica (One, Fade to Black), which is never a bad thing in my books.
It's always nice to see a truly well-produced, well-performed and well-executed album come out of your hometown, and Reaver's Corvus is assuredly all of those things. It may not be my cup of tea stylistically, but I can fully appreciate the considerable artistry that has gone into making this album. For the true metal fan, I would say that this record is a must-have, regardless of where you call home.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Victoria Underground - Black Hat Villain - My Generation (EP)
If Black Hat Villain's debut EP, "My Generation," showed up at your house to fix your washing machine, it would do so without taking off its work boots, asking you how your day is going, or stopping to use your washroom. It's a record that doesn't take a lot of risks, but is business-like and efficient in its approach.
The record gets down to work quickly and without pretension, with the eponymous first track more or less setting the tone of the record. Scotty Tuesday's vocals are rich and tasteful, and the band employs backing vocals to good effect. It's clear that these boys have taken queues from other hard rock bands of the last decade, and they've learned their lessons well. Choruses are big and full, guitar textures sit nicely on top of each other without muddiness, and the aforementioned rich vocals drive the music along without overpowering it.
The EP plays out nicely, at least in the order that I listened to it on their MySpace page (I can't say whether or not the physical CD has this tracklisting). The relentless rock of "My Generation" and "All My Friends Are Dead" is tempered by moodier tracks such as "Rain or Shine" and "One Way Street." There are plenty of quality head-banging moments in all of the tracks, but there's definitely an attention to ebb and flow that is refreshing from a band in this vein.
Maybe it isn't the most original rock I've ever heard in my life, but based on what I've heard here, I'll take a BHV record over a 3 Day's Grace one any day. The band have managed to straddle the fine line between being commercially viable and maintaining artistic credibility. I didn't find myself cringing at any of the sort of boneheaded party-rock lyrics that I might find on offer from a band like, say, Nickelback, though some lines could use some fleshing out: the closing track, "Country," for example, suffers from some of this awkwardness.
There's a real earnestness to this record, as if the band members really are pouring all of themselves into the songs. That's a good thing, because that's what making music is all about.
There's no denying that this is a band with a bright future, loaded with talent at all instruments, with good songwriting instincts and, from what I've been told, an extremely solid live set. All the ingredients are there, all BHV need is a bit more exposure, a bit of luck, and a lot more elbow grease to get there. It wouldn't hurt for them to experiment a bit more on the next record, try out some different sounds and get out of the 'hard rock bubble' that seems to predominate the genre. Still, they know what they're doing, and they do it well. I hope very much that it continues to find them success.
The record gets down to work quickly and without pretension, with the eponymous first track more or less setting the tone of the record. Scotty Tuesday's vocals are rich and tasteful, and the band employs backing vocals to good effect. It's clear that these boys have taken queues from other hard rock bands of the last decade, and they've learned their lessons well. Choruses are big and full, guitar textures sit nicely on top of each other without muddiness, and the aforementioned rich vocals drive the music along without overpowering it.
The EP plays out nicely, at least in the order that I listened to it on their MySpace page (I can't say whether or not the physical CD has this tracklisting). The relentless rock of "My Generation" and "All My Friends Are Dead" is tempered by moodier tracks such as "Rain or Shine" and "One Way Street." There are plenty of quality head-banging moments in all of the tracks, but there's definitely an attention to ebb and flow that is refreshing from a band in this vein.
Maybe it isn't the most original rock I've ever heard in my life, but based on what I've heard here, I'll take a BHV record over a 3 Day's Grace one any day. The band have managed to straddle the fine line between being commercially viable and maintaining artistic credibility. I didn't find myself cringing at any of the sort of boneheaded party-rock lyrics that I might find on offer from a band like, say, Nickelback, though some lines could use some fleshing out: the closing track, "Country," for example, suffers from some of this awkwardness.
There's a real earnestness to this record, as if the band members really are pouring all of themselves into the songs. That's a good thing, because that's what making music is all about.
There's no denying that this is a band with a bright future, loaded with talent at all instruments, with good songwriting instincts and, from what I've been told, an extremely solid live set. All the ingredients are there, all BHV need is a bit more exposure, a bit of luck, and a lot more elbow grease to get there. It wouldn't hurt for them to experiment a bit more on the next record, try out some different sounds and get out of the 'hard rock bubble' that seems to predominate the genre. Still, they know what they're doing, and they do it well. I hope very much that it continues to find them success.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Victoria Underground - Handsome Distraction - Neighbours and Immigrants
Tonight begins my first in a series of (hopefully) many reviews of unsigned, independent local releases. For this installment we have on offer Victoria band Handsome Distraction and their 2010 EP Neighbours and Immigrants.
The band's name may appear to infer a certain cocky swagger, but make no mistake: Handsome Distraction are as down to earth and humble as rock musicians get. Frontman Devin Perfect has been a tireless contributor to the Victoria rock scene, both with HD and previous efforts such as Last Transmission (now Introverter), and even now in the hectic weeks following the birth of his daughter Freya, is planning HD's return to a busy schedule of constant gigging.
I first saw HD when they played with my band, Year of the Rat, back in February at the Fort Cafe. I was taken with the friendliness and approachability of the band, and further impressed with the energy emitted in their live show. It's clear that Mr. Perfect and co. have a deep passion for live music, and this really shines through in their performances.
Neighbours and Immigrants was recorded in the basement of Devin's home, fully produced and mixed by the man himself, and while it is apparent that it is a home-produced record, there are a number of production qualities that are quite impressive for a demo EP of this type. The vocals are clear and balanced, sitting nicely on top of instrumentals that are very tight and well-focused. Guitar tones are crisp and appropriate--you won't find any of the buzzy, indistinct or poorly-miced guitar tones of other home-produced records. The bass is warm, and while it could stand out a bit more in a few places, is for the most part well-mixed.
Only the drums seem to suffer from a bit of occlusion, but even then there are times when they really shine, seeming to suit the nature of the songs quite well in their background texture. Whatever the case, it's evident that drummer Bryan Reiber is a competent beat-keeper, with many of his patterns seemingly influenced by classic drummers like Dave Grohl and Chad Smith. He even kind of looks like Dave Grohl, which is never a bad thing for a drummer.
There are demonstrations of the band's songwriting up to this point on Neighbours, and hints at where they will progress to in the future. Tracks such as the one "Matter of Time" showcase a forward-thinking approach to songwriting, with interesting guitar textures and non-traditional song structuring.
This is a demo record, and so of course there are indications of a band struggling to find their identity; at times, HD's textural guitar licks feel flat and unimaginative, and their lyric-writing falls, at times, into bouts of cliche. In general, though, Perfect has done an able job of crafting a record for the working-class, everyday sort of chap in all of us. Neighbour's songs touch on themes of getting older, finding inspiration in the midst of daily responsibility, among some of the usual relationship-y type fodder that most of us can identify with. Being such an approachable and down to earth fellow as he is, none of this is surprising, and it's part of the band's charm. All this is part of the natural evolution of a modern rock band, and does little to deter the earnest nature of the EP.
Armed with a recent lineup change at lead guitar, and with a whole new set of life experiences to draw from, I can honestly say that I can't wait for HD's future output. This is a band that's hell-bent on making it places, and rather than take the usual "no hostages" approach, they're doing it in a fashion that's going to earn them a lot of friends (and fans) along the way. Perhaps there's a lesson in that for all of us.
Recommendation - I won't tell you not to buy this record, because it's a respectable effort for a more than respectable band, and certainly worthy of the meager amount of money you will spend on it. I do remain convinced, however, that these guys are capable of more; I also happen to know that they're in the midst of new recordings as this is being written (studio ones this time), so perhaps hold out and spend your hard earned dollars on future Handsome D albums; or, better yet, spend those bucks at one of their shows, which feature a lot of new material written after this record that is top-notch.
The band's name may appear to infer a certain cocky swagger, but make no mistake: Handsome Distraction are as down to earth and humble as rock musicians get. Frontman Devin Perfect has been a tireless contributor to the Victoria rock scene, both with HD and previous efforts such as Last Transmission (now Introverter), and even now in the hectic weeks following the birth of his daughter Freya, is planning HD's return to a busy schedule of constant gigging.
I first saw HD when they played with my band, Year of the Rat, back in February at the Fort Cafe. I was taken with the friendliness and approachability of the band, and further impressed with the energy emitted in their live show. It's clear that Mr. Perfect and co. have a deep passion for live music, and this really shines through in their performances.
Neighbours and Immigrants was recorded in the basement of Devin's home, fully produced and mixed by the man himself, and while it is apparent that it is a home-produced record, there are a number of production qualities that are quite impressive for a demo EP of this type. The vocals are clear and balanced, sitting nicely on top of instrumentals that are very tight and well-focused. Guitar tones are crisp and appropriate--you won't find any of the buzzy, indistinct or poorly-miced guitar tones of other home-produced records. The bass is warm, and while it could stand out a bit more in a few places, is for the most part well-mixed.
Only the drums seem to suffer from a bit of occlusion, but even then there are times when they really shine, seeming to suit the nature of the songs quite well in their background texture. Whatever the case, it's evident that drummer Bryan Reiber is a competent beat-keeper, with many of his patterns seemingly influenced by classic drummers like Dave Grohl and Chad Smith. He even kind of looks like Dave Grohl, which is never a bad thing for a drummer.
There are demonstrations of the band's songwriting up to this point on Neighbours, and hints at where they will progress to in the future. Tracks such as the one "Matter of Time" showcase a forward-thinking approach to songwriting, with interesting guitar textures and non-traditional song structuring.
This is a demo record, and so of course there are indications of a band struggling to find their identity; at times, HD's textural guitar licks feel flat and unimaginative, and their lyric-writing falls, at times, into bouts of cliche. In general, though, Perfect has done an able job of crafting a record for the working-class, everyday sort of chap in all of us. Neighbour's songs touch on themes of getting older, finding inspiration in the midst of daily responsibility, among some of the usual relationship-y type fodder that most of us can identify with. Being such an approachable and down to earth fellow as he is, none of this is surprising, and it's part of the band's charm. All this is part of the natural evolution of a modern rock band, and does little to deter the earnest nature of the EP.
Armed with a recent lineup change at lead guitar, and with a whole new set of life experiences to draw from, I can honestly say that I can't wait for HD's future output. This is a band that's hell-bent on making it places, and rather than take the usual "no hostages" approach, they're doing it in a fashion that's going to earn them a lot of friends (and fans) along the way. Perhaps there's a lesson in that for all of us.
Recommendation - I won't tell you not to buy this record, because it's a respectable effort for a more than respectable band, and certainly worthy of the meager amount of money you will spend on it. I do remain convinced, however, that these guys are capable of more; I also happen to know that they're in the midst of new recordings as this is being written (studio ones this time), so perhaps hold out and spend your hard earned dollars on future Handsome D albums; or, better yet, spend those bucks at one of their shows, which feature a lot of new material written after this record that is top-notch.
Audio - Handsome Distraction - Loose Ends
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